Velvet Elvis
by kimmiesjoy
Summary: "Castle, where the hell are we?" "Vegas baby." He mumbles, a sleepy grin stretching across his face.
1. Part One : The Ring

**A/N:** My entry for the CastleFicathon 2013. Because I'm a complete sap who loves mush and fluff and silly. There is no excuse for it, they are my weaknesses!

* * *

She wakes up in darkness with her head buried under a mountain of pillows and it takes a good deal of shimmying, not to mention a few prayers to the gods of yoga, to get herself out from under them.

Normally it would just be a case of huffing them one by one, up and over her head and springing from the bed with cat like reflexes before skipping merrily -also known as slinking off with a grin- into the bathroom knowing Castle will follow. But today there is this really unpleasant sodden cotton wool feeling in her mouth, thick and cloying and so very gross that she mushes her face into the pillow and tries to get away from the feel of her own tongue.

Today there is the cacophony of thunder rampaging in her head that can only be the after effects of a night spent getting roaring, outrageously and splendidly drunk!

So she rolls a little, shifts against the sheet that is sweaty and somehow knotted under her chin, shuffling away from the heat and the dead weight of her passed out partner plastered across her back.

She peeks her eyes open and regrets it immediately, shutting them tight again. It's almost stifling in the heat of his embrace and there is a streak of sunlight slicing through the technicolor curtains and pouring itself straight into her eyes.

If she wasn't awake before...

"Ugh..." She groans, twisting herself under his arm and turning to face the drooling man in the bed next to her. He looks peaceful, finally, and she sighs. It's almost worth the horrendous thudding in her skull to see him looking that calm and, in sleep, the lines of worry that have painted his face these last few months are virtually non existent.

She feels proud of herself, sometimes she can be good for him too. Her fingers feather across his forehead, smoothing away the hair that sticks to his skin, running her hand over his face and lifting the strands so they don't catch in his eyelashes. Her fingers spread and she palms his cheek, drawing back suddenly when he puffs out his lips and another splatter of saliva creeps over the edge of his mouth.

"Ew." She yanks her hand away and shudders, she loves him, she really does but that is just... "Ew."

Still, he is sort of cute when he's asleep and though the thunder in her head has been joined by lightning behind her eyes, she could lay here and watch him all day, minus the drool. He's been happier than she's seen him in a while and though today, well yesterday really, is a bit of a blur his idea for a few days downtime, a few days to get out of the city, really was just what they needed.

Kate feels her body loosen, slacken and stretch, elongating her limbs against the slightly rough turquoise sheets.

Her eyes snap open widely, suddenly and she realizes the sheets are the wrong color. The curtain is too and the bed in general is in completely the wrong place for them to be in the Hamptons.

She sits up too fast, the cold light of day and the bitch of a hangover hitting her squarely in the face and reminding her she isn't getting any younger. She can still drink him under the table, but damn if she doesn't pay for it the next day. But she squints, and this is definitely the wrong place, the wrong room, wrong bed and wrong sheets. There is no way Castle would sleep in sheets this scratchy, his thread count snobability is unrivaled and all in all everything about this situation is just wrong, wrong, wrong.

She has a horrible sense of deja vu and for a few seconds Kate freezes, listening intently for growling. When none comes and she realizes alcohol, rather than being drugged and offered as tiger bait, is the reason for this situation she grumbles under her breath and turns towards him.

"Castle." She raises up on her knees, dragging the sheet away from him and pokes him. He grunts, grunts like a teenage boy or a rutting pig, maybe a combination of the two. This loud, thoroughly unattractive snarf of a sound leaves his mouth and she grimaces. She clenches her teeth and flexes her jaw in annoyance as that horrible noise bounces around the inside of her head and in retaliation she pokes him again. Harder.

Her fingers prods him in the squishy part of his shoulder and he grunts again, lifting his head from the pillow so quickly Kate flinches in sympathy for his neck, and then again for herself because she will be the one having to soothe away the ache with a massage at some point in the not too distant future.

"Castle." She barks again and this time his eyes actually open. Progress.

"I'm up, well not really but give me a minute to get the blood flowing and I'm sure I will be." His fingers find the inch of bare skin where her ribs have escaped the sheet and she narrows her eyes.

"Castle, I don't want sex."

"Then don't get up, Kate. And neither will I." He grins at his own dirty mouth and snuffles back into the pillow preparing to close his eyes. "Stay in bed with me, Kaaaate." He draws out her name on a long low hum, his arm loops around her waist and he starts to drift.

She reaches out to pinch him but freezes, catching sight of her finger and the glint that sits there in the light.

She's quite pleased with how calm she sounds given the level of panic and adrenalin surging through her blood, and stomping through her head, "Castle, where the hell are we?"

"Vegas baby." He mumbles, a sleepy grin stretching across his face before his mouth closes, his head flops back down onto the pillow and a loud obnoxious snore fills the room.

The ring is making a lot more sense now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** My obsessive love in no way affiliates me with that which I scribble about.

**A/N:** The response to this astounded me, completely, thank you so much for taking the time to read and review :) you blew me away. And also massive thanks and appreciation to Angie (dtrekker) for taking the insane, confused, fevered rambling of my emails and creating a beautiful image to go along with this story. How she filtered through my gibberish and created exactly what I had in mind is beyond me, but isn't it pretty, and just a tad teasy? Lol.

* * *

_"Vegas baby." He mumbles, a sleepy grin stretching across his face before his mouth closes, his head flops back down onto the pillow and a loud obnoxious snore fills the room._

_The ring is making a lot more sense now._

* * *

He passes out again and for a few seconds, as the shock of the ring on her finger sinks in and the words 'Vegas baby' dance around her head, Kate just stares at him incredulously with her mouth hanging open.

"Castle." She hisses, when she can finally find her voice, her fingers poking at him again. It doesn't do her much good though, the poke is nowhere near vicious enough because she keeps getting distracted by the sparkly ring on her finger. The ring that continues to make sense now she has their location.

Or at least it makes sense for about ten seconds.

Ten long drawn out seconds in which her normally useful mind and powers of imaginative deduction seem out to drive her insane. It goes on a journey of rapid and terrifying _what if's_ and comes to some startling 'sounds like something Castle would say' conclusions. And it all happens in such a short space of time that the whole process could be worthy of the man himself if he wasn't currently unconscious.

He snarfs in sleep, laughs or giggles, finds something amusing and for a few seconds Kate debates the morality of kicking a sleeping man from the bed.

Eh, probably shouldn't.

She glares at him instead, hoping a little of it penetrates his sleep, glares viciously at the man tucked up not so attractively next to her, snoring through the one nostril not currently mashed into her pillow and still smiling away, blissfully unaware of her fraying mental state.

There is a _ring_ on her freaking finger. She tugs at it but her hands are hot and sweaty and the room is stifling and there is a freaking ring on her _finger_!

She drops her head into her hands and rolls across the bed groaning, probably a little more dramatically than she would like but hell, she's a _Castle_ now, maybe, possibly. If ever there was a time for a flare of the dramatics it would be _now_.

The ring is making all kinds of sense in a so right it's wrong kind of way and though she would love more than anything to curl into Castles side and pass out in blissful ignorance her very loud brain won't let her.

The ring of scary sense just will not be ignored no matter how hard she tries. The bite of the offending circular object -she can't keep saying ring, she feels like she's stuck on repeat- on the third finger of her left hand makes it impossible.

There is an illogical sense here that she doesn't want to think about, crazy twisty sense that would mean she has done something nuts and just so thoroughly Castle-like that she will never live it down. Ever.

Except that it's not Castle-like now, not really. He's a family orientated, adorable sap with a streak of iron, fierce determined will and a heart bigger than well, any damn thing she can think of. His capacity for love and compassion astounds her every day and he's more of a traditionalist than he would like to admit. Not to mention they've spoken about it and he wants the white dress and the pretty flowers and the making of speeches.

She imagines it so easily, the lingering memories of whispered conversations painting pictures in her head.

Him in a suit, long sleek lines and the thick curve of muscle, black tie and just a little roughed up from the kiss she wouldn't have been able to resist planting on him before they emerged from the limo as Man and Wife.

The fact that even though she would have him on his tippy-toes with excitement and exhilaration and thrumming through with desire after putting every ounce of her feelings into that _kiss_. Even after all that, he would still be able to launch himself up there in front of everyone and grin mischievously, deviously, and make her blush by outing her, by hinting just enough about what they got up to and the things she whispered with her hands in his hair in the back of the Limo. He would stand before everyone they knew watching with pride as she turned a deep, rich and completely _incriminating_ shade of pink.

So oh, hell yes, he would want the making of the speeches.

And she wants to hear the words, whatever sappy, romantic, embarrassing things he would use to lecture and preach and titillate his rapt audience, she wants that. But as of now - where that lovely, oh so delightful, my cheeks are turning pink and _you just wait until I get you home, Richard Castle _ space should be filled with said speech - there is nothing but blankness. Zilch, nada, zip.

She rubs her hand across her forehead, groans, and presses at her eyes with the backs of her knuckles until her vision blurs and she starts to see sparks of color in the self imposed darkness.

She doesn't remember it and that's just awesome right there. That they did this, this with the ring, and she doesn't even _remember_ it and it is making so much sense with the odd scratchy sheets, the _Vegas baby_ and the just awful chainsaw noise coming from the man in bed with her.

Her husband?

Oh god, he could be her _husband _ and all of it, just all of it makes sense in a way that hurts her already throbbing head. They could have done anything last night, absolutely _anything_ and if he was as drunk as she must have been she wouldn't put it past him - him lying next to her in his near coma, drooling away contentedly - to have enticed her to a twenty-four hour chapel run by an Elvis impersonator who would have '_aha thank you very much'ed_' her down the aisle.

They could have done anything in the world last night and she can't _remember _ it.

Not a damn thing.

Well no, that's not strictly true...

Pinpricks of memory float through her head like bubbles, each one popping open with barely a seconds flash of information before she loses her train of thought.

She remembers a car and laughing, a lot of laughing, laughing so hard her ribs hurt and her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest.

She remembers cocktails and a bar with Tina Turner or showgirls, bikinis? Maybe feathers.

There were a lot of feathers.

She remembers the deep and penetrating gaze of his blue eyes, whispered promises and his fingers in her hair when he pulled her in for a kiss.

She remembers one specific drink, a lurid purple looking thing that swims through her mind in neon clarity and her stomach lurches at the thought.

No, ew no, not that kind of drink. No alcohol ever ever again, nope, staying away from that and food, anything that she can put in her mouth is pretty much off limits. Unless it's toothpaste to take away the vile taste and dead animal feel of her tongue.

All of that, that panic and craziness and _oh my god-ing_ happens in ten seconds flat. And it takes those ten whole seconds for it to sink in. Ten seconds of utter gut wrenching fear and debilitating annoyance at herself and the whole situation, ten seconds of regret for memories she can't currently find but desperately wants, ten seconds that feel like hours or days or maybe even decades as she berates herself. Ten seconds for her to pull herself together enough to just...

Stop.

Kate sucks in a long and deep breath, allowing it to soothe the rumba rhythm of her heartbeat. She lets it slink its way through her system, head to toe, before she pushes it out again through her teeth.

She knocks aside the scatty mentality of half drunk Kate '_oh my god I could be Mrs._' possibly-Castle and finds a way to restore her equilibrium. Taking a deep breath allows her focus to shift from blurry _morning after the night before _ and stride with firmer footing down the path of _you are a detective woman use your brain, even if it hurts like hell._

She gets comfy on the bed again, huffs the sheet higher and turns towards him with her eyes narrowed. She rolls Castle off of the pillow he stole from her and pulls it over to her side of the bed with a vengeful grin. Her hands fall, clasped in her lap and she drums her fingers on her thigh staring down at the ring.

There is no spark of lightning to her mind, no movie cliche moment of clarity, no violin music to mark a flashback and no sudden gasp. There is no voila moment of remembrance - drat damn and blast- but there is an inconsistency and_ that_ she can work with.

Because the ring most certainly does not make sense. No sense at all. None. For a start the only thing it has that is even vaguely in common with her own ring is that it is circular in shape. Everything else is completely and utterly wrong.

Kate lets her head fall back against the pillow as she studies her finger, drawing her legs up under her and crossing her ankles. It's plastic for a start, which should have been a dead give away given that her ring, her beautiful sparkly _still a little bit of a shock_ engagement ring is platinum. Not to mention the fact that whilst Castle has excellent taste, and her ring is a scary carat amount of diamond gorgeousness, this _thing_ on her finger is livid blue, square and again - was she blind before?- plastic!

It is tacky and cheap, horribly cutting into her finger and the longer she thinks about it the more it feels out of place, the more she wants it off, gone from her hand, just plain gone altogether.

She wants _her_ ring, not this nasty piece of plastic. She gives it an experimental tug, tries again. She wets two fingers on her right hand, the skin under the band itself and gives it a good wiggle, a sharp twist that makes her flinch and a hard yank. When it doesn't move she gives in and sucks her whole finger into her mouth, grunting and groaning and trying to pull it free.

Of course.

She grumbles around the disgusting plastic in her mouth, of course, of course, it's stuck. It couldn't be anything but _stuck_ could it? She gives it one last try, clasping the ring between her teeth and using her tongue to wet it and give it some space to hopefully slide free.

Twisting her body this way and that she wriggles down further in the bed and groans again at the ridiculousness of her current predicament.

It doesn't budge.

Kate throws her head back in frustration, hearing the soft thwack as it lands on the waiting pillow. She throws her leg out haphazardly and it collides with the back of Castle's thigh. He grunts but doesn't stir beyond that and fate is clearly giving her no other option.

Castle always says it's about the story, the story points them to a solution, it's their secret ingredient. But her sous chef in cooking up theories is still snoring like a trooper so it looks like she's going to have to do a little sifting and stirring - and this food metaphor is really starting to piss her off.

Kate lets her mind flood with everything she _can_ remember, everything before the alcohol and the feathers and ring with a death grip on her finger...and that is not symbolism that's just plain stupidity and the bi-product of cheap plastic jewelry.

She does the only thing she can until he wakes up, she takes his advice and she goes back to the start of their story.

Sadly she's pretty certain the first thing she remembers happened almost _two_ days ago.


	3. Chapter 3

**Forty eight-**_**ish **_**hours earlier**_**.**_

* * *

The yawn is staggering, loud and thoroughly unladylike as it leaves her mouth, and she could not care less. She has officially reached her limit on caring about anything other than falling into bed with him and Kate lifts her arms above her head and stretches. It feels glorious, almost freeing to hear the popping of her shoulder joints, the creak of muscle, the loss of two weeks worth of non-stop tension as it begins to ooze away.

Life beyond the precinct is calling to her very, very loudly.

There is a ring, in a little box, in his nightstand with her name on it, almost literally because it is inscribed with their initials. A simple _K & R_ engraved in swirly calligraphy on the inside of the band, the thought of which makes her chest tight with a lovely sense of anticipation.

She lists sideways as the elevator approaches his floor, her eyes closing with the steady sway of machinery. The gentle ascending rhythm and the blissful quiet lulling her peacefully.

She is exhausted.

Actually, no. Beyond exhausted is a place where she floats, has floated for days, waiting to get to this point, waiting for the solve that felt like it would never come and the call of his arms and his bed and other _things _ getting louder and louder with every passing second.

It's not just the chance to relax that she has been missing. The loud rumble of her stomach reminds her though she had dinner, it is now almost time for breakfast, and she's been running on nothing but caffeine for the last six hours.

Then there is the tight coiling of her muscles that have absolutely nothing to do with work, the dull ache in the pit of her stomach and the clenched wound up spring of desire twisted so tightly within her that if she wasn't already half asleep she would be slinking into his bedroom and waking him up in spectacular fashion. Possibly with ice and definitely with the warmth of her mouth.

But now she's here, and the soft ping of the elevator reminds her with startling clarity how very much she has missed him. God, she has missed _kissing _ him. The prospect of seeing him is bubbling away under her skin, warming and pretty much the only thing keeping her going.

She's so tired a nap in the elevator, as it rises and falls from floor to floor, wouldn't be that unwelcome, but knowing he's close by, that in a few short seconds she will be with him force her eyes open. Like a cartoon cat she imagines matchsticks holding up her lids, but in reality it's her ring waiting in a drawer in his bedroom and the look on his face when she tells him she has the next few days off that keep her moving.

The short walk to his door takes longer than it should with her leaden feet falling heavily on every step, but then her key is in her hand and turning in the lock. She leans against the door and lets her body weight push it closed, thudding softly. Kate breathes out a long, slow sigh of relief letting the familiar smells of Castle's loft fill her up, warm her, soothe her. Home at last.

She drops her bag by the door, kicks off her shoes and groans loudly, stumbling through his living room, the arches of her feet rolling under her and sinking blissfully into the rug. She doesn't care that she'll pay for the kicked off shoes in the morning, that he will moan about the bag being tossed by the door.

She will make it up to him, with kisses and coffee and breakfast in bed, she'll make him forget all about it with the brush of her fingers and the press of her body. In fact, she thinks with a smile, once she's had some sleep she plans on doing all sorts of things to that man. Things that will make his toes curl and his eyes gleam and his heart pound. God, she has missed him _all _ day.

Kate reaches his bedroom door and leans heavily against the frame, staring inside and letting her eyes adjust to the change from bright to dark.

Soft light spills into the room, not much but enough that she can see and she still hasn't figured out the source. She wonders sometimes if he has a secret nightlight stashed away, like his own little Bat signal for emergencies, and she really should remember to ask him that in the morning. These are the stupid, silly insignificant things that she wants to know, the in's and out's of everyday life with him, she craves it.

But for now she just wants to strip off all the layers and worm her way into his side. Maybe take a little peek inside that drawer before she slips under the covers, shedding the outside world to revel in the sanctuary of the bedroom.

Kate tosses her coat over the back of the chair and pauses at the foot of the bed, giving herself a few seconds to indulge, to be sappy and let her eyes drift over him and drink him in.

He's asleep sitting up in the bed, his back to the headboard and a book half open in his lap. She rolls her eyes when she catches sight of the cover, his latest conspiratorial biography seems to involve Elvis and aliens, with Bigfoot forlorn and forgotten on the floor.

The long thick lines of his legs stretch out and even though he's sitting up his feet reach almost to the end of the bed. His shirt is sleep rumpled, and as she unbuttons her own she imagines the moment - not that far away - when she can slip her hands underneath and seek out his skin.

She ditches her bra and pants and slips her hand under the pillow for the shirt she left there this morning. The shorts are still under the chair where she kicked them and somehow the fact that he didn't clean up after her makes her smile.

Kate shakes her head, lack of sleep is making her sentimental and she bundles her hair up on top of her head out of the way, securing it swiftly, all the while watching Castle's sleeping form.

He's pretty out of it, her movements stealthy enough that though he shifts and puffs she doesn't actually disturb him. Good.

There is a ring in a bedside drawer less than four feet away from her, a ring that's sat in a box for the last three months waiting for...well, _her! _ And she wants it, wants to wear it, wants to wake him up and let him see it sparkle on her finger.

She has this almost desperate desire, a squashed down urge, to watch him slide it into place.

But it's late and all those fairy tale like imaginings can be brought to life in the morning, when she doesn't look and feel like a hyperactive panda on the bad side of a sugar-rush come down. It can happen after a shower so she smells like something other than drunk criminals and whiteboard markers and sweat, when the taste in her mouth is toothpaste and kisses and breakfast in bed, not stale coffee.

They have waited three months, she can wait a few more hours.

Yet somehow her fingers are already curving around the handle and her feet have moved her of their own accord. Her body crouching low over his side of the bed, and though she swears she hasn't even been aware of her movement, there is no way she could have woken him up, Kate finds herself staring sideways at two very wide and appreciative blue eyes.

He grins, slow relaxed muscles lifting, and raises his eyebrows, muttering under his breath "Busted."

"Ahh." She clears her throat, pulling her hand out of his drawer with the ring box still clutched tight inside. "Hi?"

She did not squeak!

"Hey." He croaks, sleep mussed and still smiling up at her through half lidded eyes warm with love and the urge to tease, "It's late?"

"Almost three." She hums regretfully as he grimaces at the hour. She lets the warmth of his skin pull her away from his bedside cabinet and gets lost in watching the movement of her fingers as they thread through the hair on his forehead.

They both steadfastly ignore, yet remain focused on, the ring box in her hand.

He yawns widely, scratching at his jaw, tracing her wrist with the back of his hand. "Catch a break?"

"Alibi fell through, had to go back to interoga-" She yawns back mirroring Castle, it's catching afterall and she's exhausted, a hand covering her mouth, "-tion." She smiles weakly as he grins, pushing away from the bed and reaching for her.

"Tired I see."

"Mmm."

"And all ready for bed." His thumbs sweep up and under her shirt settling low on her back, just over her hips and he tugs, inching her towards him.

The feel of his skin on hers makes Kate's eyes drift shut, warm contentment flushing through her and with one hand on his shoulder she drops a knee to the bed, nudging his hip aside. Her body loose and fluid she lets him gather her up, snuggle her in and roll her across him.

They haven't told anyone yet, about the ring she just liberated from the box in his nightstand. No one knows about the whispered promises voiced in moonlight or the topic of conversations that have raged almost every night for the last three months. Every night they've spent together since he asked.

No one knows he asked.

No one except his mother, who always knows. Martha, who knows and stays silent anyway, glancing at Kate's finger once in awhile, giving her soft knowing smiles and gentle pats on the back as she hugs her. Calling them 'Katherine and Richard', their names joined together, a united force, like they are the leads in her favourite play and she has to quietly direct them.

He told Alexis, because she's his kid and how could he not? And, though she doesn't say a word, her silences are as loud as her fathers. The questions burn behind her bright blue eyes almost as intensely as Castle's, the angled tilt of her head just as inquiring, just as searching.

Then there is Lanie and her all too knowing glances. Her twisty questions that backtrack and change course and seek to trip Kate up. The fact that if she doesn't at least _suspect_ it as a possibility Kate feels almost obligated to judge the women's so called 'powers of deduction'.

But apart from that, no one knows...She thinks. They're not very good at the secretive thing.

He pulls her and she lands with a quiet 'oof' at his side. The length of his body rushing to cocoon hers with his own in the bed. He takes a few moments to distract her, with the tangle of his fingers in her hair and the softness of his lips where they claim her cheek, to pry the box from her hand.

"What's this about?" He asks quietly, his smile soft against her skin, half daring to hope and half suspecting he already knows. "Snooping."

"It's about time." She answers with a little head bob. "And I don't snoop."

"As in you've waited long enough, you're running out of it or you need more?" His eyes dance, they actually shimmer with it - the joy and possibility of what she might say - everything he feels. "And you were rifling through my drawers, I call that snooping."

"As in I have four days off and I was not rifling. I was looking for something that belonged to me." Her eyes dart to the box, to his lips and back up again and she closes them when he starts to shimmer. Kate breathes deeply, lifting a hand to catch his own, "And can we stick to one question at a time? It's late and I'm tired."

"Okay." He threads his fingers together with hers, weaving their knuckles until their hands are knotted tightly, lifting them up between their bodies and pressing them over her heart. He grins, "Did you lose something?"

"No, just put it somewhere for safekeeping."

"And now you...want it back?"

"I want..." She falters, stutters to a stop. She always wants and this is about more than that.

"Your ring?"

"_Your _ ring."

She groans when his cheeks lift and he laughs, "That sounded less cheesy in your head didn't it?"

She pulls him closer, hides her face in his neck and nods against his skin.

"It happens." He strokes through her hair, finding her face amongst pink cheeked embarrassment, kissing her softly.

"Happens to you a lot." She teases, pulling back from the kiss with a sigh, his body so warm that her fingers stray under his sleeve to coil around his elbow. "That, and the squealing."

"I don't squeal." He scoffs, rolling closer, opening the ring box as he does. "I exhale my excitement in a high pitched yet thoroughly manly fashion." He blinks, "Wait. Do I have reason to squeal?"

"If you don't, I could give you one."

He growls lasciviously. "Yes, yes do that." He snaps the box shut, the band shining in the palm of his hand. "Right after I get this ring on your finger."


	4. Chapter 4

His fingers are warm around the chill of the platinum band as it glides over her skin, as he finally slides it into place and he holds onto the ring tight when it can go no further, stroking the long length of her finger with his own. He cradles her hand, holds onto it like it is something precious, unconsciously sweeping his thumb back and forth until the heat of his skin, and the warmth of his love, leech into the band, into the space around them, into her.

Each tender touch presses it home, every point of contact moulds them together and she watches him through drooping eyelids. The peace of the moment settling over his face, blinking steadily and staring down at her hands where they lay between them.

It takes him a few seconds, reluctance obvious in his slow retreat, but after a while he leaves the ring and looks straight up at her a beautiful smile, new and born in the moment, breaking across his face.

"It's official." She mumbles, her words loose and lax and the smile on her face just verging on dreamy. She lifts her hand, now she has it back, touches his face and watches the way the diamonds reflect the barest light against his skin.

"It was already official." He squeezes her fingers just enough to pull her attention away from her hand and back to his face. They are wrapped up in each other and when she moves, seeking his eyes once more in the muted light, her nose skims his jaw and her lips part instantly for another kiss.

"I know." She hums at the edge of his mouth, "I was the one who said yes."

He chuckles, "Eventually."

"No, right away." She wriggles her fingers and watches the tiny reflections dance like fairies. The man at her side weaving magic and her, completely and utterly, under his spell. "It was _always _ a yes."

"I know." His lips search out her own again mumbling against her skin, "It was something worth waiting for, working towards."

"Together." It's the whisper of a promise that leaves her quietly and she turns in his arms wanting him to see the truth of it, to see it all in her eyes...but she's so tired.

He tries for romantic, wants to sweep her away on a devastating locking of lips, his hands threading through the strands of her hair where they have fallen from her bun, but he laughs when she yawns into him instead. "Sleep Kate." His fingers drift over her face and down to palm her shoulder.

Her eyelids flutter and she smiles, "In a minute." She drapes her arm around his neck, pulls him in until their noses brush again, eyes locking tight with his own before they close and she kisses him.

He tugs her into his side and she's asleep within seconds, her hand cradled in both of his.

* * *

She wakes in the night to the feel of his lips on her stomach, the tickle of his hair on her chest and the soft, fluttering sweep of her shirt as he pushes it slowly higher, exposing her skin.

"Kate." He whispers, the deep alluring call of his voice caressing every vowel of her name. He elongates the single syllable when it leaves his lips, stretching it out into something beautiful, something intoxicating that immediately entices her further from sleep.

Her eyelids shudder as if she's dreaming, lost in a fantasy, and maybe she is because every touch feels like a sweet combination of heaven and hell, mystical, like something she must have conjured from the deep dark depths of her own mind.

Kate doesn't move, her lids flicker on another wave of pleasure but don't part, too content in the feel of his arms to open her eyes, too absorbed in her enjoyment of his touch to do more than revel in it.

The languid unfurling of arousal brings her out of slumber on a steady wave of want. It starts low and all consuming in her toes, spreading upwards with a steadily increasing, scorching flame of heat, like the slow ascent of her body into a tub of hot water.

She gets lost in him.

Unfettered need tickles and trickles its way to her knees, radiating up the backs of her legs and flooding muscle and tissues alike as it seeks more contact, rushing to meet the brush of his fingers at her hips. Her back arches when his hand slides beneath her, letting him lift her, drawing her from the mattress and pulling her towards him, seeking more connection, more of each other, everything they can get, gentle and tender and soft and sweet.

They love each other, fiercely and quietly.

His thumb traces the line of elastic on her pajama shorts and Kate finally gives in, opening her eyes on a moan and reaching for him. Their thighs brush and the kindle and flint of their aligning bodies sends sparks along her skin.

When her fingers find his face, cupping his cheek and pulling his head from her stomach, she traces the fading shadows under his eyes and smiles, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the increase of her heart beat.

He looks so happy.

She traces the line of his lips, the soft sweep of his mouth parting at the gentle touch of her hands. She caresses his cheek her palm opening wide and sweeping up to the lobe of his ear. Kate smiles and wriggles her fingers through the strands of hair that curl over the pulse in his neck.

Barely there stubble breaks through his skin and rasps against the pads of her fingers as once again they find themselves drawn to his kiss. The softness of his lips parting against her knuckles, tongue touching the bone before dipping in and out of grooves, his teeth bite at the palm of her hand and she freezes, letting loose a moan that lands as a soft mumble of sound, slipping between them.

Castle holds her eyes, midnight blue circling a well of deep desire. Without breaking her gaze, he presses his lips to the ring on her finger with a shiver that rolls through his body and straight into her own. She shudders again at the gentle barely there feel of his tongue when it curves around the diamond and laves her skin, he kisses the ring, her knuckles and the back of her hand, turning it over to get at the warmth of her palm. He kisses her wrist and the pulse that hammers hectically under the thin membrane, blood and heat and longing all welling up underneath his touch. Everything in her rising to the surface, wanting more.

He whispers her name, an endearing reverence flooding his voice, like he can't quite believe she's wearing his ring, _their_ ring. Like he can't believe any of it is real.

They are here at last, same page same desire, same frenetic current charging under their skin, like liquid lightning sparking where they touch. Pinprick sensation licks out from the tips of their fingers, covetous limbs winding together, wrapping them up in each other. Hot needles of tension, of anticipation, dart all along the length of his arm where it lays pressed against her side, where their hips touch, where their lips kiss.

Everywhere, everywhere.

Kate entwines their hands and keeps them tight to her side, finding his eyes and holding his gaze for a few long seconds before she rolls them. She doesn't give up the grip on his hands until he's under her looking up, until his blue eyes are dark, darker still than she has ever seen them, brimming with nothing but desire and her skin ripples with happiness.

She rolls into him, her whole body an undulation of bliss and if he doesn't believe she's wearing the ring she'll just have to _make_ him. The soft dig of metal between their clasped hands should be proof enough...for now.

Whatever else he needs she will give him in daylight, in the sharing of their news with their friends and family with the sharing of their lives. But for now in the darkness of his bedroom she willingly gives over her happiness and her delight into his waiting, eager hands.

She laughs as her body settles over his and he groans, capturing the sound with a kiss. Another kiss, the first of many that will pepper a night spent in celebration.


	5. Chapter 5

_She laughs as her body settles over his and he groans, capturing the sound with a kiss. Another kiss, the first of many that will pepper a night spent in celebration._

* * *

(present time)...Vegas?!

* * *

In her scratchy sheet toga, with her knees drawn up and her head twisted towards her sleeping -still drooling and slightly gross- fiance, possibly _husband_ Richard Castle, Kate smiles. She can't help it, there has always been something about him that just -even when she wants to smack him upside the head - makes her feel happier, better, lighter.

Even now in this tacky hotel room, with the memory of _them_ burning through her mind and the twist of cheap plastic on her finger, he can find ways to make her smile.

The liquid warmth of that night, less than forty eight hours ago, when she told him she wanted to wear his ring and he slipped it onto her finger, still simmers through her blood. Every little detail of it in crystal clarity, bright and ferocious and so thoroughly delicious that she slips towards him, her heart beating a little faster.

There is nothing beyond that moment in time just yet and she's still mad, she reminds herself because her body seems to have forgotten.

Her chest is hot, flushing with the memory of arousal and she's suddenly so much more aware of the scratch and pull of the bed sheet as it moves over her skin.

She is still mad, still frustrated - ok, maybe in more ways than _one _ right now - but that doesn't mean he's not hot and warm and ugh... sexy and just within a fingertips grasp of her hands and she's not all that sure she wants to tone down the feelings that race inside her when she could just crawl over and take a little of her _frustration_ out on him instead.

His eyes are closed and Kate wants to get him opening them slowly, blinking at her with desire because she loves his eyes.

She loved the time they spent staring at each other in wonder when he pressed his lips to her knuckles and the ring finally fell into place. The blue she gazed into was deep and dark in the shade of his bedroom and she could have tumbled into the depth of feeling that shone from him.

Kate loved the time they took with each others bodies, partners in celebration, in battle and in triumph, still curls her toes and, as she remembers how they celebrated, how many times and ways and how they raced each other towards the rising sun, little sparks of firelight zip under her skin.

His voice, so low and deep that the resonating hum pulled her in, under, rumbling through forbidden sounding octaves, words slipping against the softest skin of her stomach and thighs. Each and every one a command, demand, a plea that spoke directly to her body until it was thrumming and electric.

The heat of the room is still stifling and the glare of sunlight through the windows is still intense and a little disorientating but she smiles. How can she not when the memories of him and the feel of his body, his square shoulders and broad chest, large muscular build and almost hulking bear like form fill her bed.

Will always fill her bed.

She smiles wide and reaches her hand out across the folded pillows and rumpled sheets towards Castle, wanting nothing more than to run her hand through the mess of hair on his forehead. The chicken tuft of soft silken strands tripping through the pads of her fingers, moving down to his neck, shoulders and his arms.

She's still mad, she reminds her fingers when they branch out happily and reach for him, still mad but wanting desperately to be wrapped up in him. To have him awake and hovering above her, rolling her and pressing her deep down into the mattress the way he did a few nights ago.

Her body aches anew with the urge to feel the solid weight of him, grounding her and setting her free to float around the room like a balloon, it's got to be the alcohol in her blood talking and she's still mad, she really is but she wants to feel the nudge of his thighs and the press of his hips into hers.

To maybe wake him up the way he woke her up the night they got engaged again, officially. She's still angry that she can't remember, but somehow the thought of his lips on her throat, on her shoulders, kissing paths across her cheeks until he finds her mouth, lessen it just a bit.

Still mad, still mad and crazy in love with her fiance/husband, and even with the ring on her finger being blue and plastic and_ wrong_ on so very many levels the fact that something sits permanently on that finger now makes her feel giddy and a bit girly and she wants to wake him up and kiss him and find out whether or not they got married.

Because if they did, if they did sneak off to Vegas - Ugh, elope?- then they need to redo it so she can remember the best, happiest day of her life with him. And those stupid beautiful girly thoughts of flowers and dresses and a sappy first dance to a cheesy song are swamping her mind. But it doesn't matter because she wants those memories, more than that, they _deserve_ them.

They deserve, after everything they have been through together, to be able to remember every single second of it.

A thought stops her dead in her half aroused, half crazy rambling mind rant.

What if they didn't?

It springs unbidden into her head, and because she has been focused on the _Oh my God_ aspect of it she hasn't really given herself a chance to contemplate that maybe, maybe they didn't get married after all.

What if they didn't ... What if they didn't take a drunken stumble down the aisle?

It's not disappointment that gnaws at her, it's not, it can't be, that would make no sense. No sense like the plastic ring on her finger and the room and the drunken - sleeping, snoring, drooling - bear of a man in the bed next to her or the VEGAS baby of it all.

Nothing makes sense, but disappointment would make the least of all the senses because this is not how she ever pictured doing it.

Eloping?

Eloping without friends or family, without the pomp or pageantry of being a bride, his bride, it's just not what she has ever imagined for herself. Or for him. This is not how she thought their story would play out.

And her mind is firing a million different scenarios at her with each passing second obliterating the left over gooey feeling of mush and sexiness that came with her memories of him slipping the ring on her finger. All that remains is the lingering need to get her ring back, wherever that may be, and the absolute burn of determination that comes with knowing that she will find out the truth.

One way or another.

She needs a plan and sitting in bed is getting her nowhere. Dragging the ragged mess of her hair away from her face Kate huffs and glances down at her outstretched hand again, where it hovers over Castle's cheek, and she wants her ring, her actual _will be on her finger for the rest of her life_ ring.

She needs to pull herself together and she really needs to brush her teeth. Scrubbing cold water on her face and washing away all the gross debauched_ morning after the night before_ feelings from her body would be heaven, and the thought of a hot shower is _almost_ as tantalizing as the idea of rolling over Castle's sleeping form and losing the sheets had been a few moments ago.

But right now _nothing_ is more important than finding her ring and getting this piece of plastic crap off her finger.

Kate sits up in the bed, tentative at first but relieved to find the pounding in her head is nowhere near as bad as she expected, and she reluctantly pulls her hand away from Castle, setting aside her fiery libido, her eyes flitting around the room.

There are two suitcases by the window, one of them hers, and if her makeup bag is inside, which, judging by the panda feel to her eyes and the black mascara smudges on the sheets and pillows, it must be, there is a tube of hand lotion in there that has proven capability for removing stubbornly stuck rings. In fact two years ago one little squirt on Esposito's finger made Ryan's stuck wedding ring fly clear across the precinct.

A grin of almost devilish pleasure lights her face, salvation in sight and the ability to rid herself of the faux engagement ring so close. Kate stretches her arms above her head then re-knots the sheet across her breasts and slips her feet over the edge of the bed.

Instead of landing on the carpeted floor her feet plunge straight into something soft, squishy and_ warm_, the momentum of jumping upright forcing her body to sway and tilt sideways, but with nothing solid beneath her she starts to fall.

Kate yelps, kicks out to regain her footing and screams loudly in confusion when something grabs at her foot. She squeals, kicks out again against the confines of the sheet and hears a sharp and pained oof of surprise, followed by a string of curses .

It's a person!

It's a person?

Oh god, it's a person!

But she's still falling, falling fast and hard and every cop instinct she has kicks in until her body is a flailing but, sort of, coordinated mass of limbs working together to protect and defend.

Kate tumbles, landing hard and it hurts but she rolls a little off kilter and somehow finds her knees. She thrusts her hands up, grabs something soft and squeezes.

Squeezes as hard as she can!

There is a sudden high pitched scream and her eyes open. Her hands still squeezing tight.

"Oh my god, BECKETT! I think you_ broke_ it."

Kate baulks, her eyes opening wide when she recognizes the voice and she squeals loudly, "Esposito?"


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: forgive the delay I have had every internet issue under the sun in the last few weeks, I endeavor to do better and would just like to say to all the lovelies still with me, still reading and still being unbelievably kind, yes, I know it's a little crazy and it will probably just get crazier, but thank you for sticking with me, it means the world! :D

* * *

*insert dramatic music* _previously_...

* * *

There is a sudden high pitched scream and her eyes open. Her hands still squeezing tight.

"Oh my god I think you broke it."

Kate baulks, her eyes opening wide when she recognises the voice and she squeals loudly, "Esposito?"

* * *

**Chapter Six**

* * *

"You can leggo now." He squeals and her eyes snap shut again immediately, a shudder of revulsion rolling through her entire body, making her fingers quiver, "Ew." and whatever the soft and kind of hard and thick and - no no she won't think about it - but it's still in her hand and ew god, no, she lets it go.

Tosses it aside.

_Tosses_...

Bad choice of words.

Bad.

Lets it go, sets it aside, not tosses. _Anything_ but tosses.

No. Bad.

She scrunches her face as a whole slew of images come at her like visual bullets, firing rapidly from the evilest depths of her brain and she mentally ducks and weaves around them, but to no avail.

They hit her hard and fast and oh god, she's going straight back to therapy.

The toss motion of her hand sending a wave revulsion through her stomach and she presses her palm into it, feeling the dig of the lurid blur ring that is still attached to her finger.

Stupid reminders everywhere that she has no idea what is happening.

Another image comes at her, followed by the feel of naked skin - not the skin she likes to feel naked - touching at her feet and knees.

Tangled sheets. Wrapping around her like vines, tying her up with Espo as they writhe to move apart on the floor.

Even the noises he made as they collided.

She's probably just scarred herself for life, maiming Espo in the process.

Tossing him aside...

Bad choice of words. Bad, very bad.

He's warm - the whimpering, groaning probably broken man on the floor - the heat of his body leaching through the thin cotton sheets that separate them and she's too close. Much too close to the man she thinks of as one of her best friends.

She can probably count on one hand the people who know her as well as he does and there is just something kinda gross about touching him right now, right after she had her hand on his -

She might have broken it - eugh!

Kate scrunches her nose up tight in disgust, gathers the white sheet in her hands and wrapping it more securely around her body before she scrambles back. She feels her shoulders collide with the base of the bed and her body freezes immediately, confusion and relief both at battle within her.

Relief for the distance and confusion because seriously? What the hell is going on? Why is Espo on the floor? Why is he naked? So many questions start up again, but her eyes still remain snapped tightly shut - it's for the best, safest that way, mmhmm - and she's not sure she ever wants to open them again.

She grabbed his -

She touched -

She might have_ broken _ his-

There are certain things that change a relationship and Kate's pretty sure grabbing hold of- and bending- ugh there was a noise and oh god, if she really did break it Lanie is going to kill her.

Espo is going to kill her, obviously, vocally and verbally vilifying her and she will never ever live it down at work if forever after this day she is known as the woman who broke Javier Esposito.

But Lanie!

Lanie might actually kill her _dead_.

The tiny little M.E has a vicious streak a mile long when she thinks she's been wronged and how the hell she going to explain grabbing hold of his - ew it was so squishy and she touched it with her fingers - why would she even be near it in the first place?

_Yes, Lanie, I just rolled out of bed fell on him and bent it._

There is no way that sounds believable, it's a comedic farce, a nonsensical, random series of events that sound thoroughly not likely to ever happen to anyone in the human world. Ever.

And yet!

Lanie is most definitely going to kill her.

The groaning, whimpering pitiful sounds of the man in pain continue, and she holds her breath, tries to get herself under control. Breathe, maybe think about it rationally. If you can rationalize grabbing your co-workers - No NO! Bad train of thought.

Her hands are shaking and she really really needs to wash them - disinfect and scrub them with bleach - get the damn ring off - and open her eyes - maybe throw Espo an ice pack - oh god.

"Oh, God!" She mumbles under her breath, hearing something that sounds like Espo agreeing, or cursing at her, maybe both, he certainly has every right.

The bed above her shifts, creaks and she remembers her fiance/husband spread eagled, naked and oblivious to her current predicament.

Somehow she's going to have to explain this to Castle. Explain the whimpering and the broken and the series of events that are going to make no sense to anyone. And he's going to laugh, damn him, or be mad, maybe both. Oh, but there will definitely be mocking but maybe she can alleviate a bit of it with a few well placed - and timed - touches.

"Oh god!" It comes back to her so very suddenly that she squeaks the words of her shock into the near silence of the bedroom.

Oh god, she was going to do _things_ to Castle.

She was actually going to crawl over him and wake him up in spectacular fashion with ESPOSITO right there asleep on the floor.

She had been so close to recreating the night of their engagement, her fingers snaking through the sheets towards her sleeping ... whatever the hell he is now - writer, partner, husband? Maybe, possibly - with no doubt in her mind that his response would have been one of joyful enthusiasm at one of his favourite ways of waking up.

With her on top of him.

And _Esposito _ had been right there on the floor.

And now she's broken… _something_ and touched - oh god.

"Oh, god." She huffs under her breath and this is his fault, Castle, still asleep up there all oblivious to her plight as she rolls around on the floor with her hands on Esposito's … _Little_ Esposito?

Oh, God.

"Oh, God."

"God, Beckett!" He groans, noises of pain and agony that no human male should ever have to groan and she flinches, bright hot guilt tumbling through her body as she remembers he's not only her friend but kind of like her brother and his - whatever she may have broken - is causing him a lot of pain.

Also she's on the floor and wearing nothing but a sheet. Mildly hungover, feeling way more queasy than she did before. In Vegas, with a ring on her finger and an unconscious Castle and oh, god.

"Oh, God."

Holding her fingers out in the air in front of her Kate claps her other hand over her eyes, "Espo what are you doing here? Why are you on the floor? And what the hell did I just grab hold of?"

Her fingers linger in mid air as her voice reaches almost inaudible levels of squeaky and she can't, _cannot_, bring herself to look and see why her friend, partner, for all intents and purposes brother, is yelping and whimpering.

"I think you broke my wrist." Esposito moans and she has never felt relief like it in her life. Maybe once before around the "I just want you" roof hanging debacle, but this is a different kind of relief. Not one built of years of longing, desire and an innate sense of right.

This is different, this feeling that surges up inside her with the knowledge that she wasn't holding his -

She laughs. A short sharp sound bursting past her lips

It was his wrist and it feels so good, so clean and pure as the relief rolls over her that she smiles, even as she questions him. "That did not feel like a wrist, Esposito." She's still a little squeaky, a little on edge and her eyes are still tightly shut and now her fingers are clamped over her mouth to keep at the bay the tumble of laughter that keeps threatening to break free.

"Well it wassss and I think you broke it." He groans again, kicking out at her legs where they remain tangled with his own, still pinning him to the floor.

He shoves her sideways and Kate starts to laugh again, this weird little giggle rising up from her chest and even his "_What is wrong with you_?" growled at her when she can't stop does nothing to lessen the bubbles of relief popping through her stomach.

"Oh thank god, I thought I was holding your -" She tilts her head and scrunches her lips when he finally looks at her - glares at her - his eyes opening wide.

"I thought my hand was on-" She tries again waving her fingers over his area to explain, but nope, that doesn't work either and, even as she makes herself shut up, Kate has to gulp down another surging giggle, loudly, trying to cover it by clearing her throat.

Oh, it hurts to laugh, her head tensing with each noise that ripples past her lips, but it feels good too, so so good, feels like maybe something normal in among all this crazy.

Although maybe not.

She sits up and Espo's eyes... what the hell is going on now? He's still staring and she wonders if she's wounded him with her laughter and Kate tries to sound sincere, damping down the mirth in her voice to ask him, "Are you okay?"

He shakes his head, his eyes focused just past her ear below her temple, "Beckett. What happened to your hair?"

"My hair?"Kate crawls to her knees, reaching for his hand and smiling, still relieved and not really paying attention, her hair is the least of her worries,"What?"

"It's purple."

"WHAT?" She lifts both hands to tug at the strands of her tangled hair and knees him in the shin.

"Ow! Beckett." He squeaks, "Why are you wearing a toga? Why is your hair purple and _what_ is on your finger?" He starts backing away from her manic eyed expression, trying to protect himself and keeping his left, injured hand cradled protectively in his right, the back of his knuckles catching the light and -

Oh god!

This is bad, this is very very bad.

"Espo!" She cries, ignoring his questions and diving forwards to catch hold of his hand. Her eyes focusing intently on his fingers, "Why are _you _ wearing a ring?"

An enormous, blue plastic monstrosity identical to her own sits on his finger and Kate lifts it to her face, getting it as close as she can, staring at it, her mouth opening to question him further.

But before either of them can get any answers a voice above them interrupts, rough and grouchy with sleep, "Why are you both on the floor?"


	7. Chapter 7

Their heads turn as one, Kate and Espo both wide eyed, frozen in place and gaping like fish at the sight before them.

Kate swallows back a rush of desire, annoyance and about a gatrillion other emotions that come rushing at her at the sight of a ruffled and scruffy - one eye scrunched closed and the other blurry with remnants of the night before - Castle sitting up in bed.

_Mmm stubble_ should not be the first thought through her head, but it is.

With the sheet tangled low around his stomach and his naked body stretched out across the bed - the heat of the room creating a light sheen of sweat that makes his skin glisten - there are so very many things she should be thinking about, a ridiculous amount of questions she should be asking him but the first thing that tumbles out of her mouth takes her by surprise as much as it does both of the men who turn to stare at her.

"Castle, is my hair _purple_?" She squeaks, clambering up into his line of sight before he can drift off again. "Espo said it was purple. Is it purple?"

"No." Castle shakes his head, his mouth opening wide with a loud, obnoxious yawn rumbling out.

Kate grimaces and glares at Espo her hand shooting out to smack him on the shoulder. "Jackass." She growls when her hand collides with his skin, an enjoyable _clap_ of a slap reverberating around the room.

"It's more Mauve with a tinge of violet." Castle yawns again, covering his mouth this time, remembering his manners as sleep slips further away. The noise he makes is no quieter.

"What?" She squeaks in disbelief, because he _cannot _ be serious.

He yawns again, rubs his eyes with the heel of one hand like a toddler and smacks his lips. This ridiculous grin bursts across his face and she grinds her teeth.

It's a grin that in other circumstances she would find alluring, a little smug and down right sexy but now, now here with no access to her gun to shoot him or at least threaten him and get some decent answers and purple hair?

She has purple hair and a ring and freaking _deja vu_ for the amount of times she has had this train of thought and NO! No more of it, no more going in circles and wondering. Kate pulls herself up onto her knees and levels him with what she hopes is the deadliest of death glares.

There should be molten fire leaking from her eyelids and a tumultuous flare of threat and bodily violence and _little Esposito _ may have escaped her wrath but oh, lord help him if she gets her hands anywhere near his -

"I like it."

"What?" Clearly he's still too sleepy to sense a tone because there is one, she can feel it rumble through her words. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Esposito flinch at it so she knows it's there. She also knows Castle isn't immune to it, but there is something blocking the immensity of her eyeball power right now as he rambles on.

It's gotta be the alcohol. What the hell did they drink?

"Clashes a bit with the sheets." He comments, still oblivious and looking down at the turquoise swathe of cotton wrapped around his body, "But I like it. It's very superhero alter ego."

God, she might actually slap him. At the very least kick him in the shin.

"What?" Kate throws herself to her feet, ignores the whimper emitted from Espo when she treads on his leg and in her desperation to get up and look in a -

"Oh god." She stumbles to a stop at the end of the bed, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror.

She has purple hair.

"I have purple hair." She tugs at the strands that have escaped from the top of her head, snagging the elastic that holds it in place and letting it go, watching it fall past her shoulders.

Yep, she has purple hair.

"Told you." Esposito gloats from the floor, working his wrist back and forth to get the feeling back in it. Probably not broken if he can bend and flex it and twirl it around all dainty like.

She has purple hair.

Thank god it's not her entire head, just the bottom two or three inches that are - and Castle was not wrong yet again, damn him - a livid, though quite pretty, shade of her favorite color.

"Why would you let me do this?" She rounds on him tugging too viciously at her own hair and letting go with a pout when it pulls at the roots and sets off the throbbing in her head again.

"Let you?" Castle snorts and sits up and ok, fine he has a point. "Anyway it had nothing to do with me, it was all Lanie's idea."

"Lanie?" Espo squeals.

"Lanie?" Kate rolls the name across her tongue in confusion because there is the smattering of a memory of the woman just out of reach in the dark recesses of her mind. "Lanie?"

"What?" The little M.E's head pops up on the other side of the bed, black panda eyes from smudged mascara making her look scarier than normal as she growls at the room. "Why are you people yelling my name?"

"You're here." Espo raises his uninjured hand in greeting, his face lighting up, "Hola chica. I like the red." He grins pointing at Lanie's own hair which has an almost identical color effect to Kate's, only in vivid red rather than vibrant purple.

It looks good, hot, slightly dangerous. As does the glaring M.E.

"Oh, I know." Lanie grins back, ignoring Castle where he sits trapped on the bed, in the middle of their rampant flirting and eyeball sexy-time dance. "You told me last night."

There is something about the way Lanie enunciates _told _ that makes Kate think it was more like _showed _ and that takes her mind to places she was really happily, merrily skipping away from.

None of them seem to understand the seriousness of the situation.

"Did we get married?" Kate flings her hands up in surrender, glaring at Esposito, with the ring on his finger that now worries her more than the one on her own. "Espo, did we get married?"

As one, three voices in the room shout "What?" and it stuns her into not quite silence, maybe annoyance? Can you be stunned into annoyance?

Eh, she is most definitely stunned into something and she opens her mouth to yell her questions, all of them.

_Why are we in Vegas?_

_Did I get married? Who did I marry?_

_Where is my ring?_

_Why are we all naked?_

All valid - if slightly insane - questions that need, nay require, answers of sufficient explanation, but before she can do little more than stand there, in the middle of the luridly painted hotel/motel room, wrapped in a toga sheet, naked with a weird ring on her finger, stampeding horses in her head and fire in her eyes, before she can even speak ... the wall starts to move.

She stares at it as if maybe she has indeed lost her mind, traveled into a Harry Potter-esq land of weirdness where things shift before her very eyes - until it dawns on her she's an _idiot_ and they have adjoining rooms and the wall is in fact a door that is opening from the other side.

Revealing one very pissed off looking Kevin Ryan.

"Will you guys shut up!" He hisses, "I have a very pregnant - though for gods sake don't point that out again, Castle - wife next door, who will not be happy if you wake her up." His eyes have that murderous, slightly manic glaze that reminds them all of the lead up to his wedding and he rubs a hand over his eyes, pulling his robe tighter around his waist.

"What the hell are you all doing here?" Kate demands, hissing through clenched teeth as viciously as she can without raising in decibels and incurring the wrath of Jenny.

"You invited us, remember?"

She turns to glare, her hair swirling after her in a flash of chocolate and lavender that - ugh he's right - does somewhat make her feel like a superhero. Unknowingly, kind of, she adopts the stance too, her feet popping apart, her back straightening and her hands dropping to her hips. "No," Kate emphasizes, "that is precisely the point. I don't remember." She turns, "Castle, where is my ring? My beautiful and most definitely not _blue plastic_ engagement ring. Where the hell is it?"

"Safe." He promises and she reaches for the pillow nearest to her, losing all ability to have patience and be calm and not throw things, lobbing it at his head.

"That does not help me." She bites out, chomping on each word that leaves her mouth viciously.

"No, Kate." He shakes his head, his voice taking on that soothing tone that annoys and helps settle her in equal measure. "It's _in_ the safe."

He gestures to the closet and there is another tug to her memory, something that pulls behind her eyes and she remembers sliding off her ring and setting it in the palm of his hand.

She lets out another sigh of relief.

"Please tell me this means I didn't marry Esposito?" She asks holding up her hand and showing off the ring, ignoring the almost indignant _'hey' _ from the man on the floor.

"Huh?" Castle tilts his head, staring.

"What?"

He lifts his hand slowly, "If _you _ did, _I_ did." He makes a face, somewhere between _eh, what are you gonna do_ and _it's all gonna be ok_ and she really wants to go back to sleep and wake up with this all having been the weirdest of dreams because...That's three of them and please god, she can't have two husbands surely! Castle is enough to handle and Espo would just be all kinds of creepy, not to mention it's illegal and she's a cop and-

"Hey, me too." Lanie holds up her own hand squinting as the plastic orb catches the sunlight still streaming into the tiny room.

Group wedding? What the hell did they do?

"Come here." Castle reaches for Kate's hand and pulls her off her unsteady feet, down next to him on the bed. The mattress dips a bit when she thuds down and lists into his side. "I think it's time I do what I do best." He grins, teasing his fingers in between her own and squeezing her hand reassuringly.

"You wanna piss me off some more?" She grouses, flicking her eyes sideways at him and trying not to smile when he grins even more adoringly at her.

"While I will admit I am very good at that." He winks so that only she can see and the thunderous roar of her heartbeat settles just a bit. "What I actually meant was telling the story."

Her eyes widen in shock, "You remember?"

"I remember everything." He smiles slowly this time, his voice low and inviting and Kate opens her mouth to demand answers but he squeezes her hand and shakes his head. "Shall we start at the very beginning?"

"That's a very good place to start." Ryan agrees, slipping into the room, followed almost silently by his robe clad pregnant wife.

"Seriously." Kate warns, "If you two burst into some weird rendition of The Sound Of Music I swear I'll-" She scrunches her face, the hand not currently clasped in Castles squeezing tight until her knuckles are stark white.

"I'll help." Espo agrees, sitting up and looking at his partner in disgust.

"I know how to hide the bodies." Lanie chimes in, her little head popping up once again from the far side of the bed.

With a rather dramatic sigh, followed by an almost lecherous smile aimed in Kate's direction that both worries and intrigues her, Castle begins. "It starts as all good stories do," he hums appreciatively, his eyes lingering hotly over her skin, "with _sex_!"

Yeah, she's going to kill him.

* * *

**End of Part one.**


	8. Part Two : The Story

**A/N:** I have resigned myself to not hitting the 50,000 word requirement in the next 17days, that said I fully intend to finish the story :) I'm upping the rating to M cautionarily for the next two chapters. Thank you for reading, reviewing and messaging me. It makes my day, every time.

* * *

**Part Two.**

Thirty six hours earlier.

**The Loft.**

* * *

He lets her have the kiss and the upper hand for a few minutes, reveling in the feel of her straddling his hips, locking their fingers tight together and giving up every ounce of happiness she possibly can into him, into the connection of their bodies.

He grips her tighter when she laughs, feels the vibration of it against his skin and knows his face is beaming with it just as much as hers. He's completely alight with it and his own smile spreading wide across his face when she comes for him again makes their teeth clash through the next kiss.

It's frantic and urgent and happy. Giddy and light.

Their noses bump and he gets nipped, a sharp intake of his breath bringing her attention back to his face and she doesn't speak or offer sympathy, she's relentless in her belief that she needs to prove it to him.

That she's wearing the ring. That she said yes.

He knows his face is beaming with it - happiness and wonder both - he also knows he won't be tamping it down or making himself calm anytime soon. The smile will not leave his face, it simply refuses to and he finds himself more than okay with that, even if his lips are burning over and over again with the bite of her teeth.

She does it again, nips at his mouth slower, more deliberately, her gaze falling from his eyes to his smile before taking his lip between her teeth and sucking it as she moans around it. Her body hums, in-tune with the noise she makes low at the back of her throat, and he answers the sound with one of his own, something dark that she pulls from the very depths of his chest, grinning with pride as she captures it with another mind numbing kiss, her hands roaming over his body.

Her fingers thread through his hair as she holds him place, short tugs on his earlobes making his eyes open wide and catch the sneaking retreat of her smile before she does it again. A bite and a tug and her tongue dancing out across his lips to soothe the lingering warmth her teeth leave behind.

There's some claiming going on that he's thoroughly enjoying - more than okay with her leaving her mark - something needful and yearning in her touch and the way she moves that he will never ever get enough of. But this time, when she swoops in to do it again, he's ready.

He's willing and just a tad devious.

His fingers rise up from her hips, hold her shoulders and when she bites at him, teasing his mouth with her own, he deepens the kiss, holding her against him with his arms banding around her back to stop her retreat and his own eyes staying wide open until he sees hers flutter shut.

He plunges past the seam of her lips, his tongue a firm thick stroke along the roof of her mouth, coiling around her own. He pulls back slowly, a soft in and out motion of his tongue making her fingers dig into his skin. He plants a chaste kiss against her lips and then does it all over again.

Mischievous.

He strokes his fingers through her hair, gliding them down her spine, feeling the smooth, liquid undulation of her body bringing her slowly towards him, reluctantly giving in until she's laying pressed against his chest. Kissing him back just as thoroughly and taking everything he throws at her with sighs of unadulterated pleasure.

Her toes curl against his thighs, her hips dancing in uncontrollable circles and her feet slide further down the sheets, bringing their hips into a tighter, fiercer contact that makes them both gasp and separates their lips on a wet,_ desperate_ and driven sigh.

She sits up slowly, eyes wide with surprise and annoyance for how quickly he got the better of her and she does it again - that short, sharp circle of her hips that has him straining through his cotton of his pajama pants and reaching for her in seconds - a smile of satisfaction and delight sharing her lips.

Two can play at this game, the claiming and needing and the kissing, they can play at it _all night_ and the fire of challenge burns in her eyes, flickers out over her skin, slowly setting them both ablaze.

Her hands land on his chest and she hums at the contact of skin on skin, of the warmth that meets her fingers and her eyes close again leaving him mesmerized and staring up at her.

She traces his breast bone with the tips of both fingers, smoothing over his heart and circling around to spread her hands wide at his ribs. Her hips rotate agonizingly slowly when she tangles herself in the hair that circles his navel, her fingers moving deliberately to watch his muscles quiver under her touch.

She thumbs the line of elastic that has ridden dangerously low on his waist, skims her own skin in the process and their eyes meet.

Something about the way she stares at him tells him to watch her, to watch them and she does it again, her fingers moving against the muscles of his abdomen, teasing the skin, the soft contrast of his stomach and the hard, firm press between her legs making her smile fall away and her lips part.

His hips jerk in response and her hands start to move again, as if the shudder that raced through his body brought her back to the moment and her palms travel lower until she meets her own skin again. The skimpy sleep shorts baring almost the entirety of her legs and her hands slide up over her thighs slowly.

He follows the movement with his eyes, watching the trip trail and exaltation of her passion giving way to soft gasps. He watches the rosy hue creep in and sneak out over her body, touching at places he wants to lay his tongue to, bite with his teeth and kiss until he loses breath and focus. He wants to get lost in her so thoroughly he no longer knows where he ends and she begins.

He watches, watches and waits his body jumping to attention with every slight movement of her own above him until he can resist no longer and he reaches for her, tracing over the skin of her legs, teasing them with the wide open palms of his hands, cupping and exploring and caressing all at once.

He's mapped every inch of her body, discovered every crevice and nook and ticklish spot, he knows the pattern of the freckles on her back and he could close his eyes and trace the line of the veins behind her right knee.

He knows what she likes and how she moves, where to touch and when to hold back - just for a few seconds - to hear her give up his name in shuddering shock, until he has her screaming at him and trashing on the bed.

He knows the feel of the indentations and puckers of her scars, he has tasted them with his lips and tongue, memorized them with the pads of his fingers and the soft press of his cheek.

He knows the secrets of her body and he can make her laugh - throatily with desire, gasping on short, sharp exclamations of surprise - or giggle joyfully and exasperatedly with the tickle of his fingers, until she's begging for air and kicking him away, threatening him all the while.

He knows and yet, here and now with her rising and twisting and teasing above him, it all feels new.

Tonight there is a ring on her finger and a promise in the air that crackles around them bright and strong like fireworks. Like lightning and fireflies and static under their skin. It is alive around them, inside them, between them and her need to prove something to him is too stark a contrast in the room, too unnecessary - he already knows.


	9. Chapter 9

She stares down when he breathes her name, her fingers caught up in the hem of her shirt, but she doesn't pause, doesn't drag it out any longer. The sharp jerk and role of her pelvis and the way she licks her lip as if preparing to devour him, telling him she needs to move, needs to _feel _ him. And instead of teasing him anymore - like they both know she could - she continues drawing the shirt up and over her head before throwing it behind her, not caring where it falls.

Naked from the waist up she rocks into him, a firmer, slower friction that breathes new life into her need and his want and their joint, rolling efforts to get the other breaking on a_ desperate_ cry. He can feel the hot, wet press of her against his thighs, the moist heat seeping from between her legs and his fingers dig into her hip bones.

He wants to touch her.

She presses her weight down into his lap and shimmies, her head tipping back so the ends of her hair sweep across his thighs and even though he is still wearing far too many clothes for his liking he can feel the movement of the strands through the thin material, feel it lick like flame that spreads out slowly, up and down the length of his legs.

Between her thighs he feels the smolder of her body, the heat that billows from her and his fingers are so close to the edge of her shorts, to surging up and underneath, to slipping in between her lips and scorching his fingertips.

"Give me your hands." She pleads, with her eyes closed and her back arched, searching like she knows what he's thinking - and she probably does - because even as her body dances above him, sweet desire plastering her her bare skin to his, she pulls his hands up, gripping his wrists tight when she finds them and bringing them up with her own.

She holds on, laces their fingers together and squeezes, like they're already joined, like he's already inside her and she's riding him for the pleasure they'll both soon drown in.

But he's not. And he should be.

The slow gyration, the way he rubs her, the blood that pounds and throbs between them and rushes in his ears making the room feel like it's spinning. Around and around and around with the lowdown dirty, twist of her artful body.

Her eyes fly open when his stomach muscles clench and the blood pulsing through him - hardening him almost painfully - presses his solid length firmly against her and she slides back and forth along him, no skin contact where it should be

There is no escaping it, the way they react to each other has always been obvious, instant and fiery. First with their words and their banter, now with their touch and the way they move, with the way their blood surges as if reaching through their skin for the other.

He can feel the pulse of it to the very tip of his erection, like this great pounding thud that sears his skin and he can feel her squeeze her thighs, clenching to roll herself against him, hip to stomach using the angle of his bones through his skin to touch herself, work herself up, the thin shorts she usually sleeps in riding high and dampening almost obscenely with each movement.

He's going to have to burn them after this. There is no way he will ever be able to sleep knowing she's wearing them, those tiny little shorts will always remind him of this night, yes, he's going to have to burn them. If he doesn't rip them from her body first.

"Kate." He breathes and she looks down at him, her eyes wide still and so dark that all color is being sucked into the swirling vortex of her pupils, a black hole of desire alight there in the all consuming darkness. She draws everything in, absorbs and devours it all, stealing whatever words he was about to speak.

"Castle." She echoes his call, his name on the tip of her tongue, an elongated meander through two simple syllables. But she plays the word like a savant, catching the letters, rolling and twisting and tweaking them until just the sound of her voice has him jerking his hips in response. She makes his name into a beautiful, sex fueled melody that flitters around them.

A song he will never tire of hearing.

She gives it up, the tale end of his name slipping through her lips on a hiss and she holds his eyes, telling him what she wants, what she needs.

She wants him to move, to touch her. "Here."

She hums it, the quaver of her voice rich and exotic and immediately the pads of his fingers spread out like tentacles across her chest, stroking at each rib almost individually. The soft wave like motion of his fingertips making her stutter and rock in place rather than circle. Little up and down movements that almost end him.

His thumbs sweep the underside of her bobbing breasts in retaliation, chasing goosebumps across the silken skin, his grip spanning her entire waist and she rises up above him, her knees squeezing at his thighs, her body contracting around him. Bruising and forceful and so good.

He can almost feel her gasping and reaching for him, the invitation written boldly in her eyes, the heavy lidded desire that flares like a firework on the darkest night, sending color through her jet black pupils.

She smiles and it's almost shy in contrast to the dark demands of her body, a shiver racing through her that he feels all over his own skin. But it's knowing and wanting and everything they have ever done to each other is written on her lips so plainly that her angelic grin becomes devilish.

They're slick with sweat already, something racey and hot and unnerving in its intensity coiling around them. She wants him closer, he can read it in her body and the steady undulations of her hips. It's visible in the way she brushes her own chest, teases her skin and clenches her fingers in the sheets at his side.

Her eyes are stark and pleading, her fingers curling in invitation, the ring catching her eyes as she breathes out, "Come here."

He complies to her request, his heart thudding wildly, and pushes up from the bed. With his arm behind him for leverage and his chest rising to meet hers, he brings their bodies into each other until he's sitting up with her in his lap, pressed into him tighter than before. They wrap each other up in their arms, hips still rolling in unbidden surges that make their fingers cling, their toes curl and with her sitting in his lap all he really has to do is thumb aside the leg of her shorts to be inside her.

Hot, with their bare chests mashed together, nipples dragging in frantic aching peaks over him, and so tight he can feel the beat of her heart thud along with his, feel the twitch and pulsation between her legs, the damp strain against his thighs that makes him want to flip them over, rip off her clothes and attempt to break the bed.

He thinks they should leave it a smoking pile of rubble in the middle of the room with the remnants of they tattered clothing strewn around it like victory markers.

He drags her closer with a hand at the small of her back even as she rises higher. Her fingers thread through his hair, scratching at his scalp and glancing his forehead with the softest of touches that make his eyes close and his mouth open hotly against her skin.

The salty, sweet taste of her sweat meets his tongue when it darts from his mouth to trace over her chest, skimming her scar and deviating sideways.

Full of warmth and anticipation, she guides his hand around her body, fingers tight at his wrist, bringing him up higher until he's cupping her breast, settling his grip where she wants it before her arm bands around his neck and she looks down.

She's on her knees in his lap, watching from above and the gentle rise and fall motion of her body, the way she holds him in place and offers herself to him leaving little to the imagination.

Her hair trickles in a slow tumble either side of their faces, brushing his cheeks and shoulders and casting her in shadows that he chases with the tip of his tongue. He watches her eyes slam shut when he kisses the hardening peak of her nipple, lips wet and gentle as his fingers copy the movement on her other breast, pulling, twisting, thumbing and tweaking.

He circles slowly, twists the bud and rasps with his nails, the sharp contrast to the slow gentle kiss making her jerk in surprise.

He envelopes her then, sucking the sweet flesh deeply into his mouth and grazing over the nub his teeth. He rolls his tongue, and feels the bruise of her knees as she digs into him.

The hand in his hair wrenches free, slithers over his shoulder and slams into the wall above his head as she shudders, trying to find balance and control, but he wants none of it.

Sucking harder on her skin, wanting to feel her as she slowly comes undone - the delicious way she tastes as she unravels - he lets her nipple pop free of his mouth, reaches for the other to give it the same attention and devotion, sucking harder, slower, softer, teeth and tongue in battle for dominance and he knows if he marks her skin she'll come after him with threats and promises and more heated demands, using her body to punish him - payback.

And that's exactly what he wants.

He licks, tastes, teases and sucks, her breasts molded to the palms of his hands until her body is nothing more than frantic shiver of feeling that ripples seductively against his own.

Sucking harder on her nipple, his tongue twisting around and around as his fingers roll, the weight of her resting heavy when she presses more of herself down into his waiting hands, she gives herself over to his touch.

He licks and kisses everything, the pulsating peak, the trickle of sweat that slides down from her neck, the curve of her breast and the heated underside that still holds a trace of the scent of her soap.

He licks and kisses and touches until she's rolling against him like a turbulent wave, and he can do nothing but jerk up against her in response. Their bodies so eager to meet in that long, thick, slick slide that makes their hips kiss, as they cling to each other and get too lost in the this - the quick motion of _almost_ - to move apart and _come together_.

"God, Castle." She thrusts against him, moans his name and slides down to take his mouth in desperation, having to get him away from her skin, from the feelings he is sending racing through her chest. From the sharp electric tingle of her nipples and the heavy weight of her breasts as they throb and ache and demand more of his attention.

He can tell by the sound of her voice she was seconds away from exploding in his lap with just the feel of his tongue on her and sets about restoring the balance by reaching between them to trace his length through thin pajama pants.

He was already hard but the second she put her hand on him, her fingers somehow tracing over his tip, everything narrowed to focus on the two of three inch gap between them that he wants _gone_!

He grins into the kiss as she tries to swallow his tongue, the rhythmic surge of muscle against muscle surrounded by warm, wet heat making it the most erotic kiss they have ever shared, taking them back to their first night together yet again. And her fingers are slipping under the waist of his pants as if she too had visions of this ending with her in his lap and hot messy thrusts driving them both crazy while still partially clothed.

But that's not what he wants.

She bobs in his lap, desperate for the friction of him pressing against her, every brush making him jerk up and he waits until she's spread out above him, flat to his chest, her lips hovering over his own as she tries to catch her breath, before he moves. Threading his leg between hers and rolling her across the bed, pinning her beneath him.

He catches the tail end of her moan in his mouth, drawing her hot breath in over his tongue and giving it back to her with the dizzying rush of his own. He wets her bottom lip when he sucks it into his mouth, drags his tongue over it, lets her skin throb and pulsate against him before surging into her suggestively, the thick force of his tongue touching at the softness within.

He can't stop kissing her.

Small nips along her lips and cheeks, neck and collarbone, he pauses there for a few seconds and lets himself get lost in the thud of her pulse against his tongue, the sounds she makes when he presses at it rhythmically with the tip, an undulating motion that makes her groan and hiss.

Her hips mimic the rolling wave of his tongue against her throat, soft swells and the gentle rise and fall of her body, bringing her into him, seeking more than the thoroughly devastating kiss but far too reluctant to let it go.

She swallows, thick and heavy, an arousing sound that pulls his mouth from its suction grip on the bone, and he chases the rumble from her chest, up the long line of her throat, kissing and nipping his way to her ear, her cheeks, the corner of her eye.

Slick with sweat his fingers slip and slide over her skin and when he feels her body rise up beneath him in response - her heels to bed lifting her closer - her hands wrapping around him and dragging across his back with a sharpness that makes him gasp, he slides a little lower down her body, tangles his fingers in the hem of her shorts and tugs them.

He feels her fingers do the same with his pants, digging in against the flesh of his ass before she uses her feet to kick the material down his legs. They end up tangled around his toes, her shorts and his pants and their feet tied up together.

She throws back her head and laughs when he growls, thudding into the pillows and pulling him down with her. She wants fast and_ now now now_ and celebratory explosions, he wants slow, timber cracking, _white heat _ build up that leaves you thrumming with nothing more than ecstasy and the inability to remember your own name.

They want each other and he loves her laugh, loves her smile and he slides a hand between them, pressing apart her legs and smoothing over the skin on her upper thigh, feeling it dance against his fingertips. Her muscle quivers and how much she wants him is evident in the his fingers slide against her, wet and open and so ready.

He strokes slowly, with confidence, watching the light in her eyes change, a familiarity of touch chasing away the giggles and replacing them with heaving breath, the movement of her chest, nipples brushing his, making his fingers move faster, firmer, lower.

Touching at and tracing her lips slowly, toying with the desire that seeps from her with the pad of his thumb, fingers parting her so that she jumps in pleasure and shock, the burn of hot, wet trembling flesh enveloping him when he pushes inside. She surrounds his fingers, fluttering muscles pulling him in deeper.

The laughter gone.

She writhes against him, opens her eyes wide and inviting, obsidian, animalistic lust driving the whimper from her lips, forcing her up from the bed and her hips spreading apart, his name on the tip of her tongue. "Castle, now."

He reaches between them again, baring his weight away from her with the palm of his hand by her head and presses her thighs further apart. He laves himself in the wetness weeping from her, a soft stroke, hard touch that makes all the muscles in his stomach clench tight, amping up the craving to be inside her.

His fingers coil at her knee, laying her open, spreading her wide, wider still because when he brings them together he wants to feel every little bit of her, just as much as she's telling him she wants the same thing.

And there is nothing like those first few seconds when they meet, their bodies fitting together.

She contracts around him as he slides inside slowly, pushing deeper, deeper as she draws him in and he watches her eyes roll back, feels her nails dig into his hips. She reaches around to palm his ass, pull him closer but when that isn't enough she lifts her feet and uses her heels to do the same thing, wild and demanding. Kate wraps her long legs around him and traps him inside her as she shatters, coming hard as he begins to move, prolonging her pleasure and reaching for his own as his name becomes one long, drawn out, elongated sigh of contentment, delight and inevitability that he has been waiting to hear all night.


	10. Chapter 10

Present time

(**Vegas**)

The bite of her nails into the meaty palm of his hand make his eyes snap open and he emerges from his fantasy dreamily. Castle hears his own voice mumbling to a stop and when his words fade he finds himself confronted by a deafening silence.

It's the kind of silence that trickles icily over his body making him acutely aware of everyone's eyes on him in a way he's not very fond of. Sometimes he enjoys being the center of attention, but this is not one of those times.

Nope, not at all. Everyone is staring at him and he can't have said all of that out loud. Not all of it. He'll admit to getting a little bit lost in the memories of Kate, all sexy and goddess like in his bed, but there is no way he said all of the things he was remembering out loud.

Right?

"Bro, that is_ way_ too much information." There is a thud following the words as Espo's head collides back with his pillow and his short, sharp bark of disgust brings Castle very firmly back into the room and away from the delicious images that he can almost taste on the tip of his tongue.

He feels the hot rush of blood immediately surging into his cheeks, suffusing his neck and chest but it's not really brought about by embarrassment. It's more the dark ripple of pride and lingering heat at the memory of her body wrapped around his in every way imaginable that gets to him, and it takes a few seconds for the grip of her fingers to tear their way through his mind sex-fog.

Then they do and -

"OW!" He bleats, yanking his hand back from Kate and glaring at her for all he's worth.

"You're lucky that's all I pinched." She growls, her eyes dropping menacingly to the sheet bunched low on his waist, and seriously? Does she not hear the things that come tumbling out of her own mouth?

She moans almost daily about him having no filter but seriously? _Seriously_?

He rubs at the red mark on his hand and levels her with what he hopes is a menacing look - judging by the roll of her eyes he's falling pretty short - and his focus drifts around the room to their friends, to the people who really shouldn't be hearing the ins and outs of their - well - _ins and outs_.

Heh, he snickers - in his mind because Kate is still staring at him and he doesn't, does not, have a death wish, especially whilst naked and with her next to him looking all vindictive and superhero like with purple hair and kissable lips - pull it back man - and then he sighs.

Apparently he said a little too much.

"That is ... uh...yeah." Ryan utters and Castle's eyes dart to him before skittering around the room, deliberately leaving the somewhat violent detective until last. "Good."

"Good?" Espo growls under his breath, and under his sheet, "Have you _lost_ your mind?"

Ryan flounders, still trying to talk his way out of it, "Good for you guys - that you're happy and you can do - that well yeah, I'm just..."

Ryan's cheeks are pink and his head is lowered, his hands on his knees squeezing tight like he might be feeling queasy. Ryan who still blanches or goes red and averts his eyes when they kiss, Ryan who _aww's_ them like they are the cutest thing ever whilst still maintaining that he doesn't want to know a damn thing about what they get up to and Castle's just gone and giving him a front row seat and ugh - he feels like an ass.

What with Espo rolling on the floor like he's been tasered and Ryan mumbling under his breath something that sounds a lot like _therapy_ Castle has a feeling he won't be using his Ferrari for the foreseeable future.

Ryan's cheeks start to lose a little of the green tinge and he pulls his robe around him more snugly, exhaling long, slow, deep breaths as if he's trying to calm his stomach. At his side his wife is grinning for all she's worth and she catches Castle's eye, her massive smile extremely reassuring.

That is until he sees her hands.

Her hands, with her palms spread wide and protective across her bump, that make him gulp in shock.

It's as if she's _shielding _ her unborn child's ears from his story and a small part of him - the part that still hopes he's in the running for god-fatherly duties - feels somewhat offended by that.

All right, it might have been a fairly detailed retelling of the night he got engaged to Katherine Beckett, and the way they celebrated might not _necessarily _ have been a fitting tale for a newborn - or a still developing fetus - but he doesn't think he was crass or overly pornographic. He tried to maintain some poetry in the extremely dirty, yet loving and delightful, things they did but - yeah, okay - he may have gotten side tracked somewhere along the way.

She's still smiling at him, Jenny, with her hands on her bump, and he can feel his lips move to smile back as he tries not to focus on what she's doing, the idea is too creepy even for him.

A _tiny_ little person listening in on their every conversation, a mini Kevin Ryan covering his ears and grimacing in disgust. The image floats unbidden through his mind and Castle forces himself to turn away from them, to focus on something else.

Almost on cue there is a groan from the floor behind Kate and Castle leans over to look.

Esposito's head is still hidden from view, buried under a pillow, but every now and again small groans of horror rise up from underneath and his body thrashes about like a disgruntled toddler. His feet kick and flail as he continues his tantrum and Castle smirks, enjoying the man's discomfort.

Little comments like "Do I really need to know that? Really?" and "So gross...too many details...ugh." muffled by the pillow over his head are easy enough to ignore, which apparently Castle has been doing in the retelling of their tale.

He's got a nerve really, Espo, with his judgey huffing and groany growls of annoyance, surely he must realize that Lanie and Kate _talk. _And that through Kate, Castle has become privy to some very delicate, intimate and - on more than one occasion - downright _kinky _ information of his own.

There are only so many times you can hear stories before certain visual associations become ingrained in your brain. Like Lanie's penchant for pulling Espo into her by his badge - when it's still wrapped around his neck. Now Castle can't look at the damn thing without thinking about a slightly drunken Kate giggling and telling him of the night Lanie used it to pull Espo in by his -

And speaking of Lanie

His eyes fall on the little M.E, still tucked up on the floor next to his side of the bed, with her vivid red streaks and her smile wide. Wider than anyone else in fact and this look in her eyes that screams _I knew it_ in ways that makes him wonder...

He knows Lanie likes to share and apparently Kate does too.

_Boast_ might be a better word for it - not that he's bragging- because Lanie's eyes are practically tearing their way through the sheet he has looped around his waist. To get a better look? A confirmation of the stories she has been spun? He's not sure but the way she gobbles up the sight of him greedily is a bit unsettling.

She knows things, he can read it in her eyes, she knows_ a lot_ of things.

Then she laughs and he feels Kate's head at his shoulder as she does too, clearly something passing between the two friends that serves to punish him for his indiscretion.

Alright, fine they can have that one, and finally forcing himself to turn back to Kate, her grip having moved from his liberated hand to his kneecap - not the previously broken one luckily - he finds her with her head tilted towards him and her cheeks bright red, but nothing in her eyes other than desire and memory and the lingering traces of whatever the hell just transpired between her and Lanie.

She gifts him with a shy, knowing, almost teasing smile. One he knows well and it's all wrapped up with a look that makes his heart bump up against his chest, thundering hard instantaneously, his blood simmering in his veins.

It's a look that bleeds _you will pay for this and you will enjoy it._

A look that leads him to believe slightly pissed off, twist your ear and growl your name Kate will be coming out to play. Threatening Kate, tight gripping, handcuff wielding occasionally rough and delightfully _spanky_ Kate with her dangerous words and leading phrases, dark twisting promises that leave him boneless - bonerless? - literally!

"Hey." She flicks at the soft skin at the inside of his knee, as if she can read his mind, hear his thoughts, maybe even see the very images projecting themselves across the blank canvas of his imagination. He scrunches in apology, surrounding her hand with his own and dwarfing the slender digits. His fingers trace over the gaudy fake ring they slipped on at some point yesterday and he wants it gone, even as touching at the blue plastic stone reminds him of placing the real ring on her finger.

"I remember that part." She murmurs, her fingers brushing over his as they trace the ring and she nudges his head up with her own, letting him know she's drifting back to that night too. Then she flashes her eyes at him in warning, "I wanna know the parts I _don't_ remember."

That she can remember that night when all her other memories are a jumbled mess makes him deliriously happy, happier than he could ever possibly explain, because it's not as if she has concussion, or anything that should be cause for concern, but that night - so much like the first one they ever spent together - is going to be burned into his memory for all of eternity and he's so glad, grateful even, that he can tell from the way she smiles at him that it will be burned into hers just as brightly.

He smiles at her, his heart still racing like it's trying to catch up with all the emotions and feelings running riot within him and he can't help himself. He twists bodily towards Kate, watching her eyes flutter in confusion, her own smile waiting for him. "On with the story" He promises, his fingers lifting, palming the back of her neck and pulling her to him for a kiss.

She bumps her nose against his, kisses him back quick and sweet, indulgence swimming through the act. Her breath paints his lips as their foreheads touch and she nods. "On with the story, writer boy."

"Yes please." Jenny agrees eagerly.

"Mmmhmm." Echoes from Lanie's side of the bed and Kate laughs when they are met with complete and utter silence from the other two. Both Ryan and Espo are choosing to remain quiet in the face of whatever Castle says next.

He grins evilly, his eyes for no one but Kate as he speaks, "So, we collapsed in a hot and sweaty- " he wiggles his eyebrows and fingers "- extremely sated heap."

"Castle!" She warns, but he holds his hands up innocently.

"What?" He continues, his smile widening further as he remembers and she glares. "That's what happened next."


	11. Chapter 11

_He grins evilly, his eyes for no one but Kate as he speaks, "So, we collapsed in a hot and sweaty- " he wiggles his eyebrows and fingers "- extremely sated heap."_

_"Castle!" She warns, but he holds his hands up innocently._

_"What?" He continues, his smile widening further as he remembers and she glares. "That's what happened next."_

* * *

**The loft**

Thirty-five hours ago

* * *

They collapse in a hot and sweaty - and judging by the grin plastered to her face, and the way his blood is leaping to escape his skin - extremely sated heap. There are no pillows on the bed, no sheets to wrap themselves up in, everything got kicked to the floor and the lamp might be upside down and hanging precariously from the bedside table.

Shit, they might have even broken the bulb.

Screw it, it was totally worth it. They went a little crazy, bit more than crazy, he blinks rapidly trying to clear his vision of the swimming stars and snow blindness of ecstatic whiteout but nope...she damn near tried to kill him that last time.

She's trembling against him, the muscles in her thighs still quivering against his own and he can't help but wonder aloud, "Do you consummate an engagement?" He croaks out the words breathlessly, chuckling when she snorts and laughs and rolls into him, throwing her naked leg across his own so that he can feel the way she still ripples with pleasure.

Her fingers tease over his chest and her head settles against his heartbeat. "I think we did."

"Yeah, I, yeah." He's having trouble with words, coherency and basically everything that comes with your brain functioning like a normal persons after that!

And in his arms, in his bed and mashed into every inch of his quaking skin, is Kate Beckett, looking up at him through lidded eyes blurry with sated lust and red raw completely kissable lips. He was in love with her before, he knew that, but this - this has crossed some mind altering threshold - this feels like nothing else.

It's not a sex daze, it's just her and them together and the diamond ring, finally finally finally, on her finger. Not that the sex wasn't - ungff - every word in the sex dictionary, seriously sometimes they do things and his brain, it just...gets lost in it.

Round one was a bit of a battle, one that was fought with ferocity and dominance and won with equal victory and a lot of vocal encouragement from the troops on both sides of the - field? eh - conflict? Bed? That works. His brain is still mush and she's just giggling in his arms, panting with her hair a hot mess of finger loved tangles, and her body humming at every point of contact with his own.

She's happy. Even her fingers swirling through the hair on his chest feel happy and he likes that so much, loves it so much that he reaches over and tilts her chin up so he can find her lips for a breathless kiss - that is far more _breathless_ than actual kiss - stroking her cheek when they pull apart but remain nose to nose.

God, he loves her and her eyes flutter when she inhales and he can see it right there, in that green and brown mix of magic, how much she loves him too.

They're more settled now, round one done and dusted even though it was a lot about claiming and belief and watching the way their bodies fit together. About the puzzle pieces of their existence slotting into one another so perfectly that they never wanted to pull them apart - even when the pulling apart felt_ so good_.

It was about tangible proof that neither needed but both wanted, two people entwined and reaching through the darkness to find that little spark and tending to it until it was a roaring flame.

It was about setting fire to each others bodies, slowly and deliberately, and thrashing limbs colliding with the furniture. There was grunting and groaning and tumbling from the bed and laughter that seemed to last a lifetime. It was about kissing raised skin, welts and bruises in sympathy for the collision only for it to become more heated, more desperate, more loving with every sweep of tender lips.

It was the promise of forever in one single, fervent act, the ferocity of which took them both by surprise, lifted them high and cast them into each others arms to observe the wreckage.

It was about gasping and clawing for breath and not quite understanding the things they could do to each other, about doing them anyway and holding and reaching for something that would rip them both apart.

And not stopping until it did.

His fingers tangle in the lng curling ends of her hair again as Castle smoothes it out down her back and over her shoulders, his hand gliding until he finds skin and he hums against the top of her head, his mind full of the images of the two of them together.

Her fingers tip tap over his heartbeat, keeping time and claiming the rhythm she helped create. He likes to think she's just as lost as he is in everything that they did last night, and this morning, that she's mired in the memory of magic, because there was a lot of magic sparking around the bedroom.

Round two was a half hearted, weak limbed stutter towards round three. They got what they wanted from it but not really what they needed, with teasing fingers and open mouths and way more to his satisfaction than hers. Which she left him in no doubt of at all.

On the field of battle when one victor supersedes the other, sometimes a little _negotiation_ is required.

And he negotiated her brains out.

Castle snorts and shakes his head when she looks up at him like he's crazy, and he's relieved when she lets it go. Her body too lax and her mind too indulgent to do little more than press the pads of her fingers to the curve of his smile and sigh hotly against his neck.

Round three was completely about her because there was nothing left in him at all by that point and there was no way she was getting away with that last little trick she pulled on him. The one that left him burning so hotly where her mouth met his skin that he thought the friction alone might set him on fire.

Revenge was sweet, but not as sweet as her.

His fingers trail low on her spine, his thumb tracing her hip, to sweep over the top of her thigh and tug her a little bit closer. With one hand at her back and the other tender across her cheek, encouraging Kate to lift her head and sleepily meet his gaze, Castle wonders how much of round three ended up in a blur, because he's pretty certain he lost her there for a while.

As if reading his mind she rolls her eyes, smiles, and traces his lower lip with the pad of her thumb, letting him know she remembers every little bit of it. Yes, she got lost, but he found her and brought her back, and she digs her toes into his calf when she lifts up, meeting his lips with the mumble of something that sounds like, "Spectacular."

She's not wrong.

Round three was _spectacular _, all about her and that noise she made that he has never heard before. It's one he won't ever forget and the idea of having forever to tug it from her lips again makes his heart beat faster.

It was about the taste of her, hot and urgent over his tongue, and the feel of her everywhere they touched. It was about every shudder and ripple of reaction he could elicit from her body, about the fingerprint bruises on his neck and the toe indentations on his shoulders that are going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow.

It was about the nail marks on his back that look like he battled another tiger - one that quite liked him - it was about teeth marks and breathless sighs and begging and wringing the very last drop of pleasure from her until she could do nothing but quiver and curse him and give in to it.

But he was wrong about having nothing left because round three led to round four and round four was just...just...there are no words.

Well there are.

Incredible, extraordinary, mind altering. There are a lot of words that could describe the physicality of the act itself, but there was something more to it. Something new.

When their bodies met for Round four - slow and close with her in his lap, her arms and legs wrapped around him as he anchored her, grounded her, rooted her to the spot - it unleashed a cascade of emotion that neither of them had been prepared for.

It was an achingly drawn out buildup as they kissed and touched and held each other, mumbling words almost unknowingly, their bodies a synchronicity of slow rocking, shallow thrusts and every inch of skin connected.

With his fingers in her hair and Kate's hands diving between them they had sought out the lightning and the electricity that flowed between them and unleashed a storm.

He had paused to kiss the palm of her hand and smile at her over the ring, bringing it up between them only to find her eyes shining with so much love that he had to kiss her to taste it.

She glistened, and her thumbs swept his cheeks, holding him in place as he kissed her.

It was about touching her lips and tracing her eyelids, his eyes slamming shut as she mapped his chest and stroked over his back, tugging his earlobe between her teeth on a huff of a laugh, so light and quick he turned to look at her just to be sure he had really heard it.

It was knowing the everything and all of the person wrapped in your arms and still needing to reacquaint yourself with them, with this newer version of the person who wanted to spend their life with you.

Needing to kiss them senseless just to hear them gasp your name.

It was about getting lost in her and drowning in her and if he doesn't stop thinking about round four, round five will start and probably kill them both.

"You'd know better than me anyway." She grins, her finger tracing the length of his nose as she watches him, waiting for a response, her words tugging him from the memories that have set his heart racing and dropping him into the warmth of her arms.

Castle doubts that he knows anything better than anyone right now. He's not even sure he knows his own name anymore. "What?"

"Engagement consummation." She shrugs, "Of the two of us, you have double the experience I do." Her eyes dart sideways as if she's doing a little mental maths to make sure she's added that up right, she nods, satisfied, and turns back to him smiling softly, "I've never done this before, remember."

"Oh, neither have I." He assures her, but her soft smile tells him she doesn't quite believe him.

"You've been married twice." Her eyes narrow as if he's about to deny and he laughs, rolling until they're facing each other. He lets his hand drift and meander aimlessly up and down her side, skimming her thighs until he settles in the inviting curve of her waist. His thumb sweeps softly, in time to her breathing, earning him a sigh in response.

Her body may be floating in a sea of tranquility, happily relaxed and still vibrating with it - much like his own - but her eyes are on him, focused and

"It feels new with you." He says quietly.

She smiles back as if that's the only thing she wanted to hear, as if he's uttered the perfect sentence to alleviate fears he didn't know she had.

"And I've only been engaged once." He corrects, laughing when her eyes widen, "With Meredith we went from casual sex to dinner dates to prospective parents to married in the space of about five months. No time for engagements."

"Whirlwind."

"Mmm." He cups her elbow, finds her shoulder and drifts until he can touch her cheek. Castle finds Kate's eyes in the darkness of his bedroom, the sky outside racing towards dawn, and he's about to ask why they're talking about this now, when she beats him to the punch.

"I want the story." Her eyes are holding his but there is a calmness, a peace, drifting behind her gaze.

He squints, a little puzzled that she wants to hear this now after everything they have just done but she laughs and shakes her head.

"Not that story." his eyes drop to hers and a little bubble of panic pops and dissipates, "This story." Her hand lands between them on his shoulder and somehow in darkness all he can see is the reflection of the ring in her eyes - and everything that it means. "Tell me this story." Her voice is low and whisper quiet, "Tell me why I'm wearing a ring."

"Because you said yes." He can't keep the awe out of his words, "And you crept into my bedroom in the middle of the night practically naked after about three months of waiting and demanded it?"

She snorts and squeezes him in all the places they touch, groaning his name. "When did you decide to -"

"My birthday." He states, and she goes completely still against him, her breath a sucked in gasp that she holds onto for a few long seconds before releasing it with a disbelieving laugh.

"I got you that good, huh?"

"You got me forever."

She grimaces against his skin and laughs again, but he can hear the surprise in her words even as his deliberately cheesy response makes her smile. She really didn't know and he likes that, likes that he can surprise her after all this time with the truth of his proposal even though she's already wearing the ring.

"How soon after the party?" She whispers.

"That night right after you fell asleep." He teases.

"Well I was the one doing all the work, of course I fell asleep." Her voices rises indignantly.

"I had a broken knee." He defends, grinning as he does, pushing buttons left right and center just because he can, because he's good at it and despite all the things she might say to the contrary, she kinda loves when he does it.

"Yeah, that sure came in handy when you decided to just lay back, do nothing and think of -"

"Feisty Beckett."

She squeezes him, makes him yelp and she chuckles against his skin. "Not feisty, just stating the truth as I remember it, and being as I wasn't high on pain meds and champagne at the time - unlike some people - I think my memory is better than yours."

"S'not that good." He contradicts, refusing to laugh when she scoffs, "I mean you didn't even notice I crept out of the bed afterwards."

"Crept? Really?" She rolls her eyes and he loves that too, gets to love that forever, even on the days he might want to throw something in frustration because of it. "Castle, I love you, but when you hop you sound like a baby elephant throwing a fit, not to mention you knocked almost everything over every time you turned around in that damn chair."

"True." He acknowledges, letting her have that one because he's already won this argument, she just doesn't know it yet.

"True?"

"Yup, I made a lot of noise, I still do, but that night after I finally got to unwrap you, after you wore yourself out and fell asleep in my bed, I crept out of here as quiet as a _mouse_."

Her eyes narrow in the darkness and he knows how much she hates missing the small details, how it's not just because of her job, but that it's ingrained in who she is - the small details matter, the little things in life that make it all worthwhile.

"That was the night you decided to propose?" She wonders aloud, her voice so quiet he's pretty confident she's talking to herself, but he answers anyway.

"No." Her eyes lift in confusion and his fingers drift over her face, mapping the movement of thought that he can almost see under her skin. "I'd been thinking about it for a while," Her breath catches but they both ignore it, Castle needing to speak the words and Kate needing to hear them. "That was just the night I started looking for a ring."

Her eyes shine like liquid silver and her body rolls over his, demanding and so sudden that he grunts and opens up to her kiss without thought. The urgent press of her tongue and the ripple of her fingers down his side making him very aware that Round five might not be quite so unfeasible after all.


	12. Chapter 12

_"No." Her eyes lift in confusion and his fingers drift over her face, mapping the movement of thought that he can almost see under her skin. "I'd been thinking about it for a while," Her breath catches but they both ignore it, Castle needing to speak the words and Kate needing to hear them. "That was just the night I started looking for a ring."_

_Her eyes shine like liquid silver and her body rolls over his, demanding and so sudden that he grunts and opens up to her kiss without thought. The urgent press of her tongue and the ripple of her fingers down his side making him very aware that Round five might not be quite so unfeasible after all._

* * *

She doesn't hear anymore of the story, her lips fuse to his as if trying to taste it instead, and he's not sure if she'll ask later - or afterwards - or in the morning light, but whatever he's said seems to be enough.

She stays pressed to him for a long, slow while, taking her time about the kiss as he remembers resorting to google to remind himself of the different cuts for diamonds and how each variation might fit on the elegantly long and slender fingers of the woman in his arms.

They don't make it to round five, sleep and exhaustion and the knowledge that they have an abundance of tomorrows stretching before them finds them happily drifting in and out of each others kisses until he's watching her eyes close and tumbling after her into sleep.

* * *

When he wakes the golden rays of sunlight are drifting in through the windows and pooling seductively at the curve of her back. It would be the perfect morning to lay here and stare until her eyes drift open in awareness and she calls him something mean so _thoroughly_ bathed in the love that it loses all of its harshness before it even slips from her mouth.

It's probably wrong to like the way she calls him pervert like its cute, or jackass like its endearing. And It really would be the perfect morning to just lay here with her and do nothing, but as he turns to watch her, she's already awake, already peering over the top of her pillow at him with that look in her eyes that means today's get up and go is actually going to involve _getting up_ and_ going_ places.

She's already smiling and reaching for him and kissing him, before he's even gotten a good eye full of her delicious, sun kissed assets and he would feel cheated if she wasn't coiling around him like a snake.

"Good morning." He mumbles against her lips, kissing teeth more than skin as she smiles and says it back. "Sleep long enough?"

"Mmm." She murmurs as his fingers climb her back, slide over her hip, hooking her knee more firmly about his thigh. "First day off." She leans back and smiles again, that full force, rival the sun smile, and she stretches out as the prospect of four days of total freedom rolls through her.

Her fingers find his ear and he elicits the manliest purr he can muster, ignoring the way she smirks, the look in her eyes telling him she thinks he's cute. Her nails scratch his scalp and her gaze drifts to the ceiling above them, staying there, tracing the patterns of morning light, a soft smile on her face that he doesn't really understand.

"I think maybe outside." She says quietly and his heart thunders because he doesn't have to ask _what_ she's talking about. Her fingers are wrapping up in his, digit for digit and palm to palm and she's stroking the skin over a very_ specific_ finger, mumbling almost like she's in here by herself. Then she turns, drops her chin to his chest, angles her head towards his and smiles "But not the beach."

He still doesn't speak doesn't want to break her out of this sharing mood she's in, these little morning secrets spilling out around them and he doesn't want to risk chasing them away.

Her nose wrinkles, and she leaves him in no doubt at all as to what she's thinking about, "There are some places a bride should never get sand on her wedding day."

He laughs - snorts, whatever - and rolls towards her, taking her with him across the bed, giving up the idea of staying quiet when she's talking about getting sand in crevices with that _glint_ in her eye. Castle pins her, his elbows up by her head so he can touch her face, trace the pads of his fingers over her smile, skim her lips. "Sex on the beach?"

She waits a beat then sighs against him, "The cocktail or are you offering?" Kate throws her head back and laughs at him, at_ them_.

"Either or...both? I like both."

"Mmm, both. But not for a wedding day."

"Honeymoon...maybe?" Her eyes are wide, soft, giving up secrets and longings he'd always known were buried deep. She smiles, a gentle thing and shakes her head, curves her lips, like she's contemplating and he can see it flicker in the backs of her eyes.

She has plans for this day, but they're still fluid, shifting and ever changing. The one constant though - he can see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch, taste it in her kiss - is that as long as it's the two of them, as long as they're in this together, it will be perfect.

Hell, he'd marry her now if she let him.

She blinks rapidly, like maybe she's getting a little ahead of herself with whatever scenario she's currently imagining, and he plants a loud kiss on her cheek, startling her, "Are there rules for this too?" He teases, rolling back when his arms start to tingle and lose feeling, shoving her and crowding over onto her side of the bed.

"Rules?" She raises an eyebrow, one that might want to destroy him later should his words lead him where she thinks he's headed. "What kind of rules?"

"You know, engagements are_ big _ and _intimate _?" He lets his face dance in enjoyment at her groan, "Weddings are small and extravagant? Public?" He raises an eyebrow to mirror her own and gives it that wiggle that annoys her so perfectly and she groans again.

Win.

"Stop using my words against me." Her fingers trap his lips, pinching the top and too deliciously smooth bottom pout into the tiniest kissable pucker.

"New fuse myan eff see."

She freezes and then she laughs, loud and sweet, nodding her head like every damn word he just breathed through the smoosh of her fingers made perfect sense. "I know." She pats his face, placates and holds on like she's not even going to hear him out.

His eyes narrow, "Mow you dough."

She releases him, biting at her bottom lip so that her teeth hit the exact spot he likes to trace with his tongue, "What?"

"You said 'I know' and I said ' no you don't' and that _you_ use my words against _me_." He pouts again, properly this time, which he knows she hates, but she kisses him and the pout both, smoothing her thumb over his damp lips as if removing invisible lipstick. This morning, bridal talk and engagement rings, early morning sex, maybe all of it combined, leaking through her blood and making her sappy. She smiles, light and airy, with wedding bells practically chiming above her head, hooking her foot behind his knee so she can climb over him and escape the bed.

Dropping the sheet and parading towards the bathroom, Kate only gets a few steps before she turns on the spots and decides to slink backwards instead. "You're a writer, I'm allowed to use your words against you. In fact given the _circumstances_-" she holds up her hand, waggles the diamond encrusted digit at him, before crooking her finger and beckoning him to follow, "- it might be _expected_ of me."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. The flu SUCKS!

* * *

_Dropping the sheet and parading towards the bathroom, Kate only gets a few steps before she turns on the spots and decides to slink backwards instead. "You're a writer, I'm allowed to use your words against you. In fact given the circumstances-" she holds up her hand, waggles the diamond encrusted digit at him, before crooking her finger and beckoning him to follow, "- it might be expected of me."_

* * *

The water pounds hot and frantic over his skin as he scrubs his hair, watching her with one eye open through the steam smeared shower glass as she brushes her teeth. She had her way with him in the shower cubicle, washed like she had superhuman powers of post crazed-shower- sex speed and then cast him aside, a frothy, bubbly mess of early morning pleasure.

Best fiancée ever.

Though his legs still feel like rubber stretched tight and released with a twang, and other parts of him are still kinda twanging too. She's got him wondering, after she emptied his head of even the possibility of thought, she planted these little seeds of information that have left him pondering things. Things he now realizes he might have taken for granted. Like where she wants to get married.

"Outside?"

Whip crack smart, catching his thought process and running with it, she turns, watching him through the heated billow of condensation as it lays over the glass and Kate grins widely. "Mmhmm." She understands exactly what he's asking her as the towel barely covering anything at all starts to slip, and the grinning around the toothbrush that protrudes from between her lips intensifies.

It's very distracting, but he stays on point. Ignores the trickle of white that sits at her bottom lip, pushes aside the knowledge of what she tastes like in the early morning, shower fresh with a hint of mint.

"That means Summer or Spring right?" He rotates, lets the spray hit him on the back of the head and switches eyes as the bubbles cascade over his face. She laughs and winks back at him exaggeratedly, scrubs her tongue and spits into the basin.

He knows she hates the cold, hates the connotations and memories that the fall of snow on the ground brings her and he understands equally that that's something neither of them want to be worrying about on their wedding day. Not to mention he's a bit in love with the idea of curving his hand against the naked skin of her back when he pulls her in for their first dance.

He's dreamt about it in fact.

Her eyes are soft when she answers him, like she knows what he's thinking, as if she's reading all the secrets of his mind and soul in the blurred blue of his eyes.

"Or Fall, but warmer is better." She calls.

Castle agrees, "As much as I love you in a trench coat-" he throws out over the tumble of water, "- and you know I _love_ you in a trench coat - the idea of a dress -" he pauses, gets lost in that image, lets his imagination do what it will with the myriad of possibilities and he hums pleasantly. "Backless, strapless and -"

"If the next word out of your mouth is _skirtless_!" She warns, not feeling the need to end her threat with any follow through.

He pouts, "So, that's a no on a naked wedding?"

"That's a very firm no!"

"Noted. That's fine. I have so many other ideas." Castle smirks when she freezes at the mirror, clearly catching her off guard. Yes, he has thought about marrying her, no he doesn't care if she knows it and yes, yes, yes it might be sneakily delicious that her knowing it has made her cheeks blush pink and her mouth fall open. He ignores it though, lathers and rinses and twists searching for the shower gel. "Huh?"

"Here." A cold blast of air shudders out over his body, but it's gone in an instant, the feel of her pressing a new and unopened bottle into his hands replacing it before she's sliding the door shut again and stepping back.

He watches her through the glass, getting a rose tinted - shower steamy - view of what life married to her could be like. It's a little too fairytale for his taste - master of the macabre after all - but she's a cop and with the dead bodies, crime solving, murder thing they've got going on the side that should serve to counterbalance a little bit of the schmoop.

"Hmm."

"Mmm?" He grins, answering her with noises equally as inane as the ones she questions him with, and she rolls her eyes, reloads the brush with toothpaste. She brushes twice in the mornings after late nights with little sleep, says her mouth doesn't feel awake otherwise. Which is ironic when she then proceeds to kill it dead with the scorch and burn of too hot coffee.

She brushes fast, her eyebrows working and her brow furrowing, all signs of a Beckett in thought and contemplation "How worried should I be about all these ideas you have?" She reaches for eyeliner, opens her mouth as she applies a thick sweep-

"We could get married in space?".

-and curses under her breath when she smudges.

Castle spits out a mouthful of water that catches him at the wrong angle and continues lathering his skin, bubbles bubbles everywhere and his skin still zinging from her touch. He ignores her gaping at him for a few seconds, just for the sheer pleasure of making her wait him out.

Kate turns to him with her eyes wide, one eyelid trailing a long black tail over her cheek, and she tries to smile like he's joking only she knows he's not. "You." Her mouth opens and her eyes complete a rotation of the room - blinking rapidly - as she searches her head for a way to make sense of this conversation, to make him make sense. He knows that look all too well. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Space." He states again, bending to apply a little pressure to his knee, rubbing over the twinge of cramp that lingers in the muscle. "The last great unknown. The final fron-"

"I swear to god if you start quoting Star Trek or talking like William Sha-"

"To ... boldy go ... where no man ... has ... gone before." He grins, proud of his voice, "To seek out ...-"

"CASTLE!" She raps the glass with her knuckles and startles him from his impersonation, glaring all the while when he loses his balance and his feet squeak across the tiles.

"I've looked into it." He shrugs, righting himself before he starts bubbling up again. "It's not really _space _ space, though there is a way to do that. It's just more complicated, possibly illegal, and a lot more expensive." He turns and smiles at her through the glass, "Not that money is an obstacle if you said you wanted to do it." He chances another glance in her direction, her face still a mask that doesn't give much away.

She has that look, that one that he can't get at to kiss off so he just forges on.

"This is more zero gravity. And you can only take three guests because space is limited."

She narrows her eyes.

"Well not space, but seating. Space is, of course, vast and infinite and filled with possibility, much like marriage to you would be." He grins at her, adds a little of the boyish charm he knows he can still pull off and gets nothing at all in response. "There is limited seating, but three guests would work. Mother, Alexis and your Father -"

Kate enunciates every word as if he has lost his mind. "You want to shoot my _Dad_ into_ space_?"

"Not _shoot_." Castle scoffs, "It's not like he'll be wearing a jet-pack, though that would be cool." He catches her eye and clears his throat, "They fly you up, you hit a certain altitude, you float around, you get hitched, you do some tumble turns and -" He grins at her again, wide and nope she's still just staring at him " - and then they bring you back down again." His voice starts to falter under the force of her gaze, "Takes ... takes about an hour."

She stares, stares for a long time, then the door is opening and the towel is dropping and she is stepping back into the cubicle and under the spray with him, her fingers tweaking his ear sharply.

"I will say this once and then I will _make you remember_ me saying it." She steps in, her body sliding against his, his hands at her hips as she walks him out from under the spray and into the shower wall. "Under no circumstances." She pushes against him, gets up on her toes and in his face, "Am I ever." Nose to nose, he holds his breath and she continues not to blink, "Getting married in _space_."

She fuses her lips to his, tweaks his ear again and tugs at his hair roughly. She steals his breath, chases his tongue with her own and when she breaks them apart he's tempted to explain it again just to get another one of those kisses.

Her eyes flare and he bites the inside of his cheek to stop the smirk. "Got it?" She questions.

Castle shakes his head, gives up the fight and sets his smile free, his hands sliding up the wet curve of her back, "I'm just a little fuzzy on the details. What was it you said about making me remember?"

She growls, and he gets another one of those kisses without even really trying.


End file.
